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f1nalboys · 3 years

Note

OK OK I D E A S

I HAVE A PHAT HYPNOKINK

How about Ofc the lost boys being really cruel about it after finding out y/n has one

Not even just David see we know markos a massive asshole as well so he’d take advantage of it and be real humiliating about it

I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS. I love a fellow hypnokink haver >:) I hope I did this justice, Luke, and I hope you love it!!! Thank you sm for sending this in and sorry for the wait :0

WORD COUNT: 2779

WARNINGS: MASC!AFAB!Reader, nsfw, thigh riding, hypno-kink, degradation, dirty talk, oral (male recieving), multiple orgasms, multiple partners, i think thats it lmk if i missed something

How the fuck did they find out? That’s the only thing running through your mind as you sit in front of the boys who were wearing shit-eating grins. When you had come back into the cave they all greeted you in a way that seemed normal but you knew there was something lurking underneath it. And now here you fucking were.

“So? Is it true?” Paul asks, his smile growing wider at your hesitance. “It is! Oh my god, he has a fucking fantasy of us hypnotizing him to be our whore!” Your face grows hot at the names. They were taking a lot of pleasure in this. He walks over to the bed and sits next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.

You sigh as he nuzzles into your neck, placing gentle kisses against your skin. He nips at your pulse and you yelp, narrowing your eyes at him. Marko sits on the other side of you and takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip was tight and he had a hungry look on his face.

“You want us to make you fuck us?” He asks, leaning in and whispering into your ear. You whimper slightly, the sensation of Paul sucking a hickey on your neck sending a shiver down your spine. Marko tsks, squeezing your chin harder. “Use your words.”

“Y-yes. I do. I want you guys to hypnotize me and… and use me however you want,” You say, your voice wavering towards the end. Marko hums, satisfied, and releases your face. You rub at your jaw and look over at the other two men. Dwayne was still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and staring at you with a smirk. David was in his chair, cigarette in his mouth, with a bored expression on his face. For some reason, that made you more excited.

Paul’s mouth releases your neck and he drags his finger over the numerous blooming dark spots he made. “Who do you want to go first?” He asks and before you can answer David chimes in.

“Don’t think it matters to him, now does it? A whore doesn’t get to choose.” You gulp, face burning when he smiles at you. His grin always felt like a snarl. Paul chuckles and nods, kissing you up your jawline before reaching your lips. You sigh into the kiss, Markos hands roaming your body.

He pulls at one of your nipples and you groan which elicits a laugh from the others. “So needy.” You hear Dwayne say and, though you hate to admit it, you felt yourself clench. You were wet already and none of them had touched you, not really. “Paul, move so I can get this off of ‘em.” Marko says and Paul listens immediately. Marko was extremely dominant, almost rivaling David, and Paul always listened to him.

Your arms raise as he slips your shirt off of your body and his mouth attaches to your chest. You moan, Paul kissing you again and slipping his tongue in easily, as Marko swirls his tongue over your nipple. His other hand plays with your other one, rolling and pulling and pinching until you are a mess of moans, your back arching into his hand and mouth.

Marko let's go of your nipple with a pop, a shit-eating grin on his face as you whine at the loss of sensation. Paul takes the cue to stop kissing you but he hesitates, kissing you a few more times before fully stopping. “Pants.” David calls from his spot on the chair and you stand quickly, unbuttoning and pulling your jeans down.

Sitting back down on the bed you hum as Marko swipes a finger up your clothed slit. “So wet, aren’t you? Did you guys know our boyfriend here is a slut?” He slips two of his fingers past your underwear and curses under his breath. Pulling his fingers away he shows them off to the others, scissoring them in the air to show how a string of your arousal connects them.

David says nothing, taking a long puff of his cigarette, eyes raking down your body. You were desperate, squirming in your seat, waiting for what they would tell you to do. “Look at me.” You meet David's eye and feel your brain go fuzzy. It was as if your surroundings, everything but David, was blurred and distorted. The smoke he blows your way fills your nostrils, warming you. “Come here and sit on my thigh.”

You do so in a trance, your body feeling simultaneously light and heavy. You sit on his thigh, legs in between his when he shakes his head. You get the hint and turn, throwing one leg over. He wanted you to straddle him. You wiggle and gasp at the friction, biting your bottom lip to stop the pathetic moan you wanted to let out.

“What’re you gonna make him do, David?” Marko asks, laughing cruelly as if he already knew. David hums, his gloved hand coming to rest against your cheek. He stares into your eyes again and you feel yourself falling deeper into whatever barely-there cloud he put you in just moments ago.

“M’gonna have him ride my thigh until he cums. He’s gotta be a good boy and get himself off before we even think of touching him.” His voice is soft, warbled in your brain as if he were underwater, but your body reacts as if he had shouted. You instantly grind down against him, eyes fluttering shut. Your underwear was still on and it only added to the sensation.

His jeans were rough against your body, the pleasure being followed closely by pain. A whine passes your lips and you hear Paul and Dwayne laugh at you. Knowing the others were watching you make a mess of David’s thigh sends a lightning bolt of pleasure down to your core. “Filthy fucking whore, isn’t he?”

Dwayne's voice, normally so soft and kind, was harsh and you squeeze your eyes shut, shuddering. He only got like this when he was with the others, especially when he hasn’t touched you yet. “Fucking things gonna cum just from that, isn’t he? Pathetic.”

You were edging closer and closer to your release and David knew. He saw the way your eyes were rolling into the back of your head, the way your lips were parted with whispers of his name, the way your pace was sputtering. “Faster.”

You listen as if on autopilot, a wave of stamina going through you. You moan loudly as you speed up, the pleasure of the fabric of both your underwear and David’s jeans rubbing against your sensitive clit doubling. “C-close,”

David scoffs at your whimper. “Cum.” You do. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, body convulsing as you don’t stop grinding against him. The orgasm rips through you, pulling obscenities out left and right until you come down. No one speaks for a second, the sound of your labored breathing being the only thing breaking the silence.

“That was hot,” Paul says and you look over your shoulder, your mind clear of the fog, to see his pants and underwear down by his ankles, his hand around his cock. He wets his bottom lip with his tongue at the sight of you. “When is it my turn using him?”

“Be patient, dickhead.” Marko says, surprisingly still clothed. He pats the spot in bed next to him and you look at David for permission. He grins, kissing you roughly before practically shoving you off of his lap towards Marko. “C’mere, baby.”

He coo’s, his voice soft. You know better than to think he’s going to go easy on you; you can only make that mistake so many times. You sit next to him and he takes your leg and throws it over his lip, spreading you open. He leans down and blows cool air towards your cunt and he chuckles as you shiver.

“Look at me.” You do so and the same fog wraps around your mind. So this was part of their hypnosis powers. He puts two of his fingers on your lips and he sucks his teeth. “Suck.” Your mouth opens and he slips his finger in quickly. He shoves them down your throat to the third knuckle and you gag slightly.

Your lips wrap around his fingers and you suck, your eyes unable to pull away from his. When he pulls his fingers from your mouth they’re completely coated in spit and he immediately plunges them into your cunt.

You moan as your head tilts to the side, resting on Marko’s shoulder as he starts up a punishingly fast pace. “Fuck! M-Marko!” You whimper, your back arching as the palm of his hand slams against your clit. He speeds up somehow and the fog in your brain goes heavier with each pump of his thick fingers.

He scissors his fingers inside you and your hips buck up involuntarily. A slap to your thigh makes you yelp, the pain surging through you. Opening your eyes you turn to look at Marko who had halted his movements inside you. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.” Without waiting for you to answer he moves his fingers again and you find yourself stuck.

All you want to do is buck your hips up to meet his fingers, to wiggle your hips for friction, to arch your back. And you can’t. Your head falls onto Markos shoulder once more, your hands gripping his shirt tightly. Whimpers were spilling from your lips and your legs were fucking aching from the tension in them. Marko can feel how much your clenching, the squelch of your arousal filling the room, your scent wafting into the four boys’ noses.

“Come on. Be a good boy and cum for us.” Is all Marko has to say for you to unravel completely. Your body shutters, eyes rolling into the back of your head, and if it weren’t for Markos words keeping you spread open for him your thighs would be clenched together. “Good job. Good little slut, hm? Is that what you are?”

You nod as your body jolts when he slips his fingers out of you and puts them in his mouth. He moans loudly around them and you feel your face grow hot as the noises of him sucking his fingers clean grow louder. “My turn!” Paul says and, without warning, you’re pushed onto your back.

Paul jumps on top of you, his large hands roaming your entire body as he kisses you. His pants were off and you jumped as he pulled your underwear down to your knees, positioning himself at your entrance. He gives you a cheeky smile. “Be good and take it all.”

He thrusts into you fully, groaning when he bottoms out. He doesn’t give you time to adjust and starts to thrust, hard and fast, filling you completely. “Fuck! Paul, fuck, feels good. Shit, keep going, harder.” You cry as he grabs ahold of your legs and pushes them up higher, your ankles on his shoulders.

“Louder.” The fog in your brain goes stronger, the only thing you’re able to focus on being Paul's cock as he fills you and his voice. You scream, calling his name over and over again as you get closer to your third orgasm, wrapping your arms around his neck. “F-fuck, you’re tight. Just like that, keep taking it.”

The two of you cum at the same time, Paul spilling inside you with a whimper. His head is in the crook of your neck as he thrusts shallowly a few times, pulling out of you completely. “Good boy, did so good.” He says, brushing his hand through your hand and kissing you on the forehead.

You take a deep breath, blinking slowly a few times, trying to clear your head. The fog was gone now but you were still muddled, your limbs heavy. You barely register the large hands that grip your thighs, only realizing it when they pull you to the end of the bed and a finger goes through your slit.

“Filled him up good, Paul,” Dwayne calls, kissing and nipping at the inside of your thighs. He had collected the mix of your and Paul's cum on his finger and he shoves them up to you, watching as you greedily take them into your mouth. “Look at me, Y/N.” You do so through heavy lids and the fog returns stronger this time. “Open your stupid fucking mouth.”

He stands, his pants abandoned on the floor, and crawls over your body until his cock is by your throat. He taps it on your tongue a few times, the weight and feel of it sending a shiver down your spine. He moves his hips slowly, giving you time to adjust to his length.

Dwayne was big, both in length and girth, but he always tended to be the sweet one when it came to letting you get used to him before he fucked you silly. His thighs were on either side of your head, his balls slapping into your chin with every hard thrust he gave you. As he speeds up, his hands plant themselves next to your head, giving him better leverage to face fuck you.

You were a gagging, drooling, crying mess and it felt fucking amazing. “Relax your throat. Gonna take me all the way in.” He grunts, snapping his hips harder, his cock sliding down your throat with ease. He holds himself there for a few seconds, reveling in the way you were choking against him.

When he pulls out, giving you some much needed air, you thank him and he laughs. He laughs at you, at how cock drunk you were. Your body jolts slightly when you feel gloved hand on your sex, yowling in pain when it comes down on your clit harshly.

“Take my cock and maybe I’ll let you cum again.” David's voice drifts towards you and, despite not having held eye contact with him, your mind falls deeper into that fucking fog, your legs opening wider for him.

The two men enter you at the same time, David snapping his hips quickly to bottom out, Dwayne's cock heavy on your tongue. The obscene sounds of skin slapping skin, the squelch of your cunt being fucked by David’s cock was nearly intoxicating. “S’close,” Dwayne mutters, his pace sputtering until he cums down your throat. You swallow around him, happily swallowing his seed.

He sighs, kissing you after he removes his cock from your mouth. Marko was leaning over your face, fisting his cock quickly. You knew he was close, and so was David if his grip on your hips were any indication. “You gonna let Marko cum on that handsome little face of yours?” David asks and you nod in response, mouth open and tongue lolling out of your mouth.

You couldn’t think straight. All you saw were two of your boyfriends' cocks as they used you to reach their high. Markos free hand grips your throat and, with a ‘fuck!,’ he cums, coating your mouth, lips, and chest with the salty fluid. You lick up what you can, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Cum when I do, baby. You gotta cum around my cock and milk me,” David says, slamming deep inside you he cums and you do as you're told, spilling over the edge for the fifth time tonight. Your cursing, his name falling from your lips over and over again, as he drains himself inside you. “Good boy,” He purrs, pulling out and sitting on the bed beside your legs.

“Look, he’s leaking!” Paul teases and you groan, burying your face in your arms. Asshole. The four men lay in bed beside you, hands running up and down your body in an attempt to soothe you.

You move your hands from your face and look at David. He had lit another cigarette, his pants pulled back up but still undone, and he had a soft smile on his lips. You smile back, closing your eyes. You were exhausted. Your body was stiff and heavy, your brain still fighting its way through the smoke.

“So? Did it live up to all your wildest dreams, Y/N?” Dwayne asks, kissing your forehead from behind you. You hum, forcing yourself to open your eyes despite how much you wanted to fall asleep. Looking at each of the men, your smile grows wider and you nod once before closing your eyes and snuggling into Paul.

“Above and beyond.”

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

#masterlist #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust · 3 years

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It is sad that John couldnt find a person to make him happy in the end, he had that burst of joy with Cyn, Paul, Yoko but it didnt last. Cyn seems the least in denial too, Paul and Yoko both like to tell themselves 'John was happy with me!' Yoko is a bit more obnoxious about it sure but still. Thats a lot of pressure for one person though, I mean its impossible to make someone happy 24/7, we've all hurt our lovec ones before. John seeked the perfect angel partner and no one could live up to it

Absolutely ^^^ and we can’t forget Stuart too! (Id throw Pete Shotton in there too, but as far as im aware John had a pretty happy and healthy relationship with Pete most his life - though I haven’t read Petes book yet cause its expensive okkkkk)

ps thats me hinting for someone to let me borrow their copy of petes book

What I find to be a real shame as well is the state of confusion John left a lot of people in. I think even to this day, Paul is somewhat vexed by John, because John was so inconsistent and emotionally abusive. It seems like John could’ve had dinner with Paul one week and made polite conversation with him and everything’s normal - and then a week later Paul might see, “JOHN SAYS PAULS AN ASSHOLE AND HE HATES HIM AND NEVER WANTS TO SEE HIM AGAIN” splashed across every paper! (<< although obviously that headline is hyperbolised). And so, due to the way John was so inconsistent (swinging between expressions of love and hate so frequently), I wouldn’t be surprised if Paul, even to this day, struggles to comprehend and recognise that John loved him - and I don’t even mean “love” there strictly in a mclennon sense, because regardless of what you believe, I think we can all appreciate that they did love each other in some way; be it romantic or platonic, they loved one another.

But its just sad thinking how Paul might still think to himself: “could I have been better to John?” - and maybe he could have, but I personally think that Paul had an enormous amount of care and patience with John, and to some extent, I don’t think that there was anything Paul could’ve done to save his relationship with John. Once John started to turn on Paul and vilify him, that was the end for them; although thats not to say that their relationship couldn’t have been mended had John lived past 40, its more so to say that I think John’s mental well-being was deteriorating so badly in the late 60s, that there was no way Paul could have salvaged the relationship at that time, because John seemed determined to push him away (but also at the same time, he seemed to want to stay bound to Paul; the classic “I hate you, don’t leave me” pattern). Like you said, John was seeking a perfect partner - someone to make him feel whole, and to remove the void within him, expelling the isolation he’d known so well throughout his lifetime. And I think to some degree relationships did make him feel whole, but the problem is that the isolation is still there, underpinning your everyday life. I think also another issue with John is that he might have met someone, and they made him happy and he felt like nothing could ever spoil this feeling - until something did. Until his new “favourite person” said or did something that brought about an uncomfortable, “bad” feeling - and once his “favourite person” had done that, I think Johns mind was prone to completely vilifying and rejecting the person he had loved and idolised so much just moments ago.

I think that Cynthia was able to recognise Johns unhappiness in a way that Paul and Yoko don’t appear to be able to comprehend (although I think that they do at least understand that John was troubled), because Johns abuse towards her was more clear-cut. Anyone whose been emotionally abused knows the struggle of never really being able to accept that it was abuse, because its like, where is the line with emotional abuse? Whereas, whilst ive never been physically abused, I can imagine that it is probably easier to accept it as abuse because the line is clearer. So Cynthia I think could see that John was not happy in their relationship, but also, I think she could also infer that John was mentally unstable, and so she could recognise that this unhappiness was not her fault (<<< or at least I hope she recognised that!)

#i rambled sorry #but i just have so many thoughts on this and i love getting to talk about this topic with you guys!!#mclennon #johns psyche #john #bpd #john and bpd #psychology #cynthia #john and yoko #yoko #yoko ono #stuart sutcliffe #pete shotton

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Saviours Coffee House [Prologue]

Summary: Negan hires a new manager.

Warnings: Language! We’re starting off tame, but get ready because future parts get dark. WC—+2.7k.

A/N: Even if you aren’t a The Walking Dead fan, you might like this story—it’s a coffee shop A/U, I really only take the characters from TWD!

Now

Your eyes were only on Negan as he stalked forward, his normally bright eyes dark with fury as he clenched the baseball bat in his hands. You’d never seen him so angry...you’d never seen anyone so angry. Apprehension coiled in your gut, your mind blank, a doe caught in the headlights. You knew you had to move, to stop him—but part of you almost didn’t want to.

It was the part of you that had been beaten and broken over and over screaming for it to end. Screaming for you to let it happen.

And fuck, you wanted to listen to her.

Maybe you would.

—

Way Back

Negan Dean was sat at his desk, staring at the computer monitor in front of him without really seeing it. His mind had wandered away from the shop's accounting, the task he needed to complete. He had reason to be distracted, though, as he was in desperate need of a new manager, and he had a few interviews lined up that afternoon.

He’d put off rehiring for too long, left the manager position open and simply worked himself to the bone, running the place and leading it. But it had been months.

He’d needed to keep busy, after Lucille...no, he wasn’t thinking of her today. He needed to get the accounts sorted, have some lunch, and then start the interviews.

That was today’s game plan, and he was sticking to it. The extra work had finally caught up to him, as he knew it would. He was ready to step back because he was fucking exhausted and wanted to focus on his role as the owner of the Saviours Coffee House, behind the scenes. He needed a full-time manager to run the floor, someone smart and competent and good with people.

Simon had been on his ass for a while now about it, but he’d resolutely ignored his long-time friend, too stubborn for his own good. He knew Simon was right. But it was going to be on his fucking orders that a new person joined the tea—his family—even if it meant he’d fallen asleep in his office some nights, slumped over his desk in pure exhaustion.

Negan finished his task and stood, stretching out the kinks in his back, before making his way out onto the loft that overlooked most of the shop below. He had a few couches up here, and a little kitchenette next to his office, the area acting as a staff room in many ways; customers could not come up. At the opposite end of the loft, a door led up to the next floor, which was Negan’s condo. He’d bought the entire three-storey after the recession, gutted the whole thing and, working with a crew of mostly friends who had various trade jobs, renovated it entirely.

Negan was proud of Saviours Coffee House, a dream that he hadn’t always had come to life in the walls of what used to be an old, relatively small, textile factory. Now situated in the heart of downtown, it was the perfect spot for an edgy, laid-back place to unwind, meet friends, go on dates. Hell, Negan loved looking down and seeing a customer stay the whole day as they worked, even if they only bought one coffee. As far as he was concerned, the moment you spent a dime in his place, you were a customer for the day. And that had been a hit with many of the locals and students from the nearby university. Open five-thirty in the morning till eleven-thirty in the evening, Saviours welcomed all. So long as you kept your feet off the fucking tables and minded your manners.

In his former life, Negan worked as a high-ranking guard at the nearby penitentiary. It was a minimum-security, well-funded place where non-violent criminals ended up. He’d loved his years there, but after getting stabbed for the second time (the first was when he was young enough that he’d bounced back almost instantly) he decided to retire.

He sunk all of his savings into this dream, and years later had a lot to show for it. He’d also met a lot of down on their luck men in his time as a guard, so after Saviours became successful, he started a hiring program for white-collar criminals who completed a local, not-for-profit reintegration program. He only kept two on at a time, and most moved on after saving up enough.

Currently at the bar was Dwight, who’d been with Negan the longest now, having started just over a year before after getting out from serving time for drug possession. If Negan was proud of anything, it was Dwight. He’d seen the man evolve from a quiet asshole who barely grunted when customers paid, to a friendly bartender who mixed both amazing lattes and delicious cocktails, even if he grumbled about it. He was a fixture here now as much as Negan—and probably more well-liked, but Negan didn’t care about being liked. As long as people were happy, he was just fine.

It was the post-lunch lull now, so Dwight was wiping up the counters and switching the signs around from daytime menus to evening. Maggie, who had been working at Saviours for about two years, was wiping down the tables while Fleetwood Mac played over the expensive Bluetooth stereo system. He’d asked Maggie if she wanted the job, but she’d only laughed before telling him plainly that she had no desire to work full time or see him that much. He’d figured as much, seeing as she was in university, but he had wanted her to know it was hers if she did want it—she’d earned it.

Dwight was happy where he was, and didn’t want to upset the balance in life he’d worked so hard for, which Negan respected. His newest employee, also a convict hire, wasn’t up to scruff to become the manager, as much as he liked Paul, or ‘Jesus’, as everyone called him. He was a nice kid, worked hard, but seemed content working three part-time jobs. That had left Rosita and Tara, both part-time and students, and then Carol, part-time and not interested as she worked as a volunteer at the Children’s Hospital and didn’t want to give that up.

Which left him where he was now, stomping up the steps to his place to have a quick lunch before back-to-back interviews of promising contenders for a job he wished like hell he didn’t need to fill.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Negan slammed his hands onto the marble counter in frustration as Dwight watched him. He smirked as he tidied up the barista station.

“That bad, boss?” Dwight was shit at keeping the amusement off of his face. Negan scoffed, glancing behind him to ensure no customers were listening, but it was busy enough now with the after-class and work rush that the cacophony of voices and music allowed him to speak privately despite the location.

Negan held up one hand, holding his thumb and index finger a sliver apart. “I’ve got this much fucking patience left. Only one candidate wasn’t a god damned catfish and I didn’t like him,” He sighed, nodding gratefully when Dwight pointed to the espresso machine, knowing Negan needed his usual five o'clock pick-me-up. “I’ve got one last one; Daryl's friend. If she doesn’t fit, I’m going to have to beg Maggie—and you know she’ll love that too much to say yes.”

With a laugh, Dwight nodded in agreement, expertly moving about making Negan’s latte. “Carol seemed pretty sure you’d like her, said Daryl thinks of her like a little sister and when he heard you were looking for someone he was adamant she’d be perfect.”

Negan sighed, “Yeah, and I like Daryl so if this doesn’t work out and I have to start hating him I’m going to be real pissed off. Thanks, D.” He added when Dwight passed over the piping hot drink, still grinning at Negan’s displeasure.

Dwight dipped his head forward, eyes behind Negan, “I think that must be her, don’t recognize her and she’s dressed too nice for this place.” With that, he turned away and started loading dishes into one of the dishwashers. Negan turned, eyes scanning for the potential candidate, and he didn’t have to look far.

Because there you were, right out of a fucking dream.

Dwight had been right, you were dressed far too nicely for Saviours, but perfect for an interview (which instantly gave you points over a few of the previous interviewees). You were weaving by a few men who were standing at a high table and hadn’t yet noticed Negan, which allowed him to survey you.

The pretty green dress paired with a smart leather jacket and shiny kitten heels gave off an air of sophistication, accentuated your curves beautifully, and rendered his mind to mush for a brief moment. You wore your hair down, and it fell in elegant waves around your shoulders. Fuck, though, if you weren’t the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

He thought Carol had mentioned you were in your mid-twenties, but you walked with more confidence about you than one usually saw in those formative years. Already impressed, Negan pushed himself away from the counter, stepped forward and smiled.

You looked around, his movement catching your eye, and returned the smile warmly as you approached. No doubt, you’d looked up their social media, seen pictures of Negan. Any smart candidate would do that, and Negan could already tell you were a clever girl. He called your name over the music, and you nodded, extending your hand

Negan took it into his and shook, enjoying how small your hand was compared to his. You were curvy and petite in the best ways, so much shorter than him but fully voluptuous, and you dressed like you knew you looked damn good, fuck whatever society said about beauty standards. “Mr. Dean, it’s great to meet you, sir.”

Negan grinned down at you, then pointed toward the staircase to your left, “Come on up, it’s quieter in the office.” And he led the way.

When he glanced back to make sure you were following, Negan saw you looking toward Dwight, giving him a friendly wave. He gave you a nod, a near smile, a pretty decent result from the house grump. He needed a manager who could get along with everyone, so right there was another point in your favour.

Closing the door brought the loudness of Saviours down to mere background noise, the evening crowds were always loud as shit. Negan loved it, the differences between the start and end of days, the energy. He gestured toward two armchairs he had, hating the process of sitting behind a desk to interview like he was some hot shot lawyer. He preferred the less intimidating, friendly way. It was just a coffee shop, after all.

A damn good one, though.

When you settled, Negan took his seat across from you, suddenly feeling a little distracted under the gaze of your bright eyes. “Well I’ll get straight to it; you come highly recommended by both Carol and Daryl. I won’t lie, I’m a pain in the ass to work for and I’m looking for someone who can handle hard work, long hours and most importantly, get along with my people. You really think that’s you?”

You were sitting with your back straight, legs crossed at the ankles, hands in your lap. You looked entirely at ease, meeting Negan’s eyes straight on as he spoke. When he finished, you leaned forward almost imperceptibly, your response instant.

“I’m exactly what you’re looking for, sir. I love people and get along with everyone. Do you think I’m best friends with Daryl and don’t know how to deal with a pain in the ass?” At this, Negan smirked, “I’m hardworking, and I have no other major commitments, so full time and long hours will suit me just fine.” You had a lovely voice, which was probably why you’d stayed working at the sales call centre for years before now.

In your resume, Negan had noted the year gap in wor—you had stopped working for the call centre just over a year ago, though it was noted you were a freelance writer and kept income that way. But he found it curious that you’d been working since you were a teenager and yet hadn't worked a solid job in a year. And now that he’d met you, he could see you were the hardworking type. Carol hadn’t known why you’d been away from a job for so long, stating that Daryl knew but didn’t tell her. He had said it didn’t matter, and that was good enough for Negan.

“Well, I’ll admit, on paper you’re ideal, which is why I scheduled you last today. I wanted to have time to read you.”

“And,” You interjected, a small smirk on your lips, “You know that keeping someone waiting the whole day for an interview will shred their nerves and leave them more susceptible to letting their true colours out.”

Negan stared, surprised, “Can’t get much past you, eh?”

You shrugged, “It’s a good tactic. But I assure you, I’m just as competent in the evening as the morning, and I think if you give me a chance to prove myself, you’ll be very happy with hiring me, Mr. Dean. I want to work here, you have an amazing place. It’s a part of this community, and the reintegration program is something I respect greatly, I have no issues working with men hired from there.” You paused, adjusting yourself slightly, palms falling open on your legs, “And, I’ll be frank, I want a job that has long days, that’ll keep me busy and tire me out and let me build relationships with customers. When I found out you were hiring, I jumped on the chance for Daryl to have Carol put in a good word for me. It just seems...right, to work here.”

“What about your writing, do you still do that?” Negan watched your face closely, and it didn’t waver, instead, your smile widened.

“I can write anywhere, anytime. And I make my own schedule with whatever commissions I take on, so it’ll be easy to write on my days off, or breaks if I don’t have a day off,” You pointed at Negan’s phone, which he’d set on the wide arm of his chair, “I can also help with writing any social media or website content, I know Carol mentioned you wanted to expand that presence, and I’m comfortable with that sort of work.”

Negan considered you, letting a comfortable silence fall as he thought over your words. You did seem eager, excited, and the fact that you’d researched what he was looking for impressed him further. Breaking eye contact, he glanced down at your resume once more, though he couldn’t think of anything else to ask. If he was honest with himself, he was ready to hire you after the first two minutes.

“I like you,” He said, thrumming his hands on his knees, “When can you start?”

“In the morning? Or I can go home, have my dinner and come back dressed more appropriately for work, if you need me straight away, sir.”

Negan shook his head, both as a response and in an attempt to toss away the thoughts that stirred up in the back of his mind every time you called him ‘sir’. “Tomorrow morning is perfect. And since you work for me now, you can call me Negan, asshole, or shithead, no more ‘Mr. Dean’ or fucking, ‘sir’, okay?”

When you smiled at Negan, it was the most dazzling he’d seen yet, bright white teeth and sweet dimples making his heart stutter. Damn, you really affected him. He needed to get a gri—you were half his age, for Christ's sake.

“Thank you, Negan,” You stood, holding your hand out and grasping his when he offered, your head tilting back to look at him as he stood before you. “Really, I promise I’ll make you proud.”

“Kid, I don’t doubt it.” He replied softly, and for a moment you simply looked at one another. Negan wasn't sure if you felt it, but he did; it was a spark. Fleeting, but strong enough that he knew life was about to get interesting again.

Taglist: @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @ladydmalfoy 🤍

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bellakitse · 3 years

Text

The one I can’t live without

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

Carlos does something reckless at work upsetting TK.

Written for @911lonestarangstweek - Day 1: Emotional whump + “How do we fix this?”

In hindsight, Carlos probably shouldn’t have been so flippant in the sight of TK’s worry.

He’s running on adrenaline. They’re in the middle of a standoff on the roof of a four-story apartment building with him between an erratic gunman on the ledge and his girlfriend. He’s trying to talk the man into lowering his gun when his radio goes live, letting him know the rescue cushion has been inflated below them, and he cringes as it causes the man before him to lose the last bit of grip he has on the situation. He doesn’t stop to think; he sees the man’s trigger finger start to pull back, and Carlos rushes forward, his arms going around the guy’s waist. Next thing Carlos knows, they’re in the air freefalling before landing on the giant cushion.

Screaming and orders are being shouted as he rolls off the cushion with his arms still around the man. He lets him go to grab his cuffs before standing him up and passing him over to his partner, finding a look of exasperation on her face.

“You’re either the bravest or dumbest son of a bitch I know, Reyes,” she says with a shake of her head before tilting it in the direction of a series of first responder vehicles. “Get your ass over there to make sure you still have your brains in the right place, though after this stunt, I have to wonder.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but does what she says, starting to make his way over to the paramedics.

“By the way,” she calls out, causing him to look back at her. “Your man is over there spitting nails.”

Carlos winces, just now noticing the number on one of the rigs. He continues walking over, feeling dread as he spots Paul and Judd and sees the pitying looks on their faces as he passes them. He sees Tommy and Nancy first. They seem to be forming a barrier with their bodies, and he quickly realizes it’s because TK is behind them, sitting on the edge of their rig with his head between his knees, taking in deep breaths.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asks, concerned, stepping around them only to step back when TK snaps his head up to look at him, his green eyes flashing.

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

“TK – “ he starts to say with what he hopes is a calming voice. It seems to do the exact opposite as TK turns redder, his face twisting into a nasty scowl.

“Of all the reckless, stupid, boneheaded things to do,” he rants. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all – “

Carlos scoffs, and even though his brain is screaming at him not to continue, he can’t help himself when TK gives him a challenging look at the sound. “That’s a little hypocritical coming from you, don’t you think? Reckless is kind of your trademark.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the second the words are out of his mouth. He expects TK to curse him out if he’s honest. What he isn’t expecting is the flash of hurt he sees cross TK’s face or the way his hand trembles. He feels his stomach drop unpleasantly as TK’s eyes shine wet, and he’s more than ready to apologize when TK turns towards his Captain.

“Captain Vega,” he starts, his voice shaking slightly. “If you would please check Officer Reyes over. I’ll go check on the girlfriend and make sure she’s okay.”

He notices Tommy look over at him, but his focus is on TK and how he won’t look at him anymore.

“Sure, TK,” Tommy answers kindly, her voice motherly the way he’s heard it at times with both her people. “Nancy, go with him.”

“You got it, Cap,” Nancy answers, putting herself on the side of TK to act as a barrier once again when they pass him. He thinks of reaching for TK anyway, but the glare Nancy gives him as she walks by stops him in his place. Instead, he watches them walk away, his dread growing with every step TK takes away from him.

Tommy clears her throat, forcing Carlos to turn back to her. He feels his face go hot at the judging look he finds on her face.

“Well,” she starts to say, letting out a loud breath. “That was an idiotic thing to say, wasn’t it?” she questions bluntly, and Carlos can’t help but cringe before nodding.

Tommy’s expression softens a bit at that. She rolls her eyes at him before waving him forward. “Well, come on, let’s get you checked out,” she motions to where TK had been sitting, probably hyperventilating because Carlos dove off a damn building – fuck he’s an idiot.

“TK might be pissed at you right now, but I guarantee the first thing he’s going to ask when he comes back is if you’re okay. It will go a long way to get you out of the doghouse if I tell him you’re fine. Then you can apologize for the stupid thing you just said when the man that loves you was on the verge of a panic attack over your safety,” she finishes pointedly, making him feel worse if possible.

֎֎֎

He doesn’t get to apologize.

Mitchell comes over to tell him they’re wanted back at the station before TK and Nancy come back to the rig. He goes reluctantly; he knows he has a job to do, but he hates the idea of leaving things unsettled with TK.

Tommy sees his hesitation, her expression softening once more as she gives him a slight shove and lets him know that she’ll tell TK he’s okay. He nods, grateful, and asks her to tell TK if he can please text him, getting a nod back from the medical Captain.

He gets that text he’s waiting for hours later when he’s gotten home. Only it’s not with the message he’s hoping for, whatever that might be. Instead, it reads: ‘Spending the night at my dad’s. I’ll call you.’

Nine simple words that make his stomach clench with unease. He wants to call TK, but his eyes keep falling on the last three words of the text.

‘I’ll call you.’

The message is clear for Carlos to understand. TK doesn’t want him to reach out before he’s ready to talk to him.

He looks at his kitchen, prepped for an apology dinner he had planned of coconut curry ramen, and sighs as he starts putting things away. He loves cooking for TK, having him sit on his counters with a smile on his face as he watches him work, stealing kisses from him after he lets him taste a sauce. It’s not the same as cooking for one anymore.

As a matter of fact, he quickly realizes through the rest of the evening that his apartment isn’t the same without TK. He’s known for a while that his boyfriend spends a lot of time at his place, but Carlos hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to it until now that they’re fighting and he’s not there.

He eats cold cereal half-heartedly and then heads upstairs. Usually, he and TK would cuddle on the couch after dinner, only half paying attention to whatever was on tv as they exchange kisses and touches. Not having that tonight, knowing that it’s by his own doing, leaves him feeling despondent. He gets ready for bed, already knowing that it’s going to be a restless night. The only times he sleeps alone these days is when TK has an overnight at work.

He lays in bed feeling agitated and miserable as he turns to face TK’s side of the bed, hating how it’s cold to the touch when he extends his hand to touch the space. He wants to reach out and have his fingertips find his boyfriend’s warm body there.

He falls into a fitful sleep, startling awake when he hears movement in his bedroom. Sitting up, he inhales a sharp breath as he spots a tense TK by the door, the light of the hallway illuminating him. Turning on the bedside lamp, he plays with the covers as they stare at each other, nervous energy crackling between them.

“I’m still pissed at you,” TK finally speaks, his brow pinched. “But I can’t sleep without your arms around me anymore,” he whispers, obviously more upset than angry.

Carlos swallows hard, hating to see TK like this and knowing he’s the cause. “How do I fix this?”

TK lets out a sigh, and pushing his shoes off, comes over to the bed, sitting down on it. “I think the real question is how do we fix this,” he corrects him, giving him a sad smile. “And unfortunately, the answer is there is no real way to fix it. I was so scared for you today because I’m so in love with you, so unless I decide to stop loving you, I’m always going to be scared when you’re in a dangerous situation,” he finishes with a wry chuckle that sounds accepting of his fate. It makes Carlos’ heart break and fills with hope simultaneously.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Carlos whispers. He slowly reaches out, touching his fingertips to the hand TK has resting on the bed, letting out a sigh when TK turns it, taking a firmer hold.

“Yeah, that was dumb,” TK answers dryly, his eyebrow raised in challenge for a moment before he lets out a sigh of his own. “But you weren’t wrong. I have made you worry about me more than once on the job.”

“Yeah,” Carlos breathes out, thinking of TK getting shot, of the minefield and his abduction. Each time Carlos had his heart in his throat, but never did TK dismiss it the way he did today. “I’m sorry,” he says again, letting out a breath when TK’s expression softens.

“I know you are,” TK says softly. He moves, laying back on the bed, his arms open to Carlos.

Carlos doesn’t waste a second. He sinks into TK’s frame, relieved to be back in his embrace, closing his eyes when TK presses a kiss to his forehead.

“We have to be more careful out there,” TK says against his brow. “The both of us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. He thinks back to how lonely his place felt all evening without TK and lets himself voice the thought that has been echoing in his mind all night. “We have someone important waiting for us to come back home in one piece to.”

TK touches his chin, tipping his head up to look him in the eye. “The most important person in my life,” he tells him with a gentle smile, and Carlos knows he’s been forgiven completely.

“The one I can’t live without,” Carlos whispers back, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he takes in the shine in TK’s eyes at his words.

“Yeah, the one I can’t live without,” he whispers back before covering his mouth with his, kissing him gently.

Carlos returns it, deepening it as he grows desperate for more, his hands reaching out under TK’s shirt to touch the warm skin he was yearning for earlier.

TK answers his touch by pulling back long enough to pull the shirt over his head, turning as he rolls Carlos over, covering him with his body, and kissing him thoroughly and deeply. Carlos lets out a whine when TK breaks the kiss, pressing smaller, softer ones over his cheeks and nose as Carlos makes another sound.

“We should sleep,” he says quietly, shaking his head when Carlos protests. “It’s been a long day, it’s late, and you jumped off a building. You can’t tell me you’re not tired.”

Carlos tries to argue only to let out a yawn that makes TK laugh.

“Thought so,” he continues smugly. “Sleep, sweetheart. We can pick this up in the morning.”

“Fine,” Carlos pouts, his eyes already growing heavy, causing TK to chuckle again.

He watches as TK stands to remove his pants before getting back in bed.

“Can I hold you?” he questions nervously.

“Yes, please,” TK breathes out, turning his back to him, letting out a sigh when Carlos throws an arm around him, tucking his face into his neck, breathing in that uniquely TK scent.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the skin, exhaling as TK squeezes his arm.

“I love you too, baby,” he answers, sounding just as tired as Carlos. After their emotional day, it makes sense he’s so worn out.

Carlos closes his eyes, finally relaxing for the first time all day with TK back in his arms.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #911lsangstweek #tk x carlos #my writing

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Rock ‘N’ Roll People In A Disco World

Part 4- Your Disco Needs You.

Intro: Paul adjusts to life at home post the shooting.

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+) A heap of angst and feelings. He’s a soft, lil bean…

Word Count: 8k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 3

Three weeks. He'd been home three weeks and with each hour that passed Paul felt less like himself. He was frustrated, angry, irritated and irritable. Upon his discharge from the hospital, his attending physician explained that the road ahead wasn't going to be easy and so far that had proved correct. He'd spent eight days in ICU, not to mention the few after in the recovery ward, and according to the medical team at his disposal, each day spent there in ICU was a full week of added recovery at home. Eight fucking weeks. He wasn’t even half way through. Physically, bar his vocal chords, there had been little lasting damage. Something he should be grateful for, apparently. The wound in his neck had healed well so far, leaving an angry raised pink scar behind, but other than that, to look at, there was no physical signs he’d been moments from death at all. Emotionally, however, well, he was a wreck. If it weren't the continued nightmares as his mind rehashed the horror inflicted in the line of duty, it was the constant desperation to be himself inside and out, to feel like he was HER Disco. For the first two weeks post the shooting, he'd been reduced to writing things on a notepad for Y/N and others as he couldn't speak more than a word or two and at a faint whisper or angry rasp. Over the last week, it had improved a little but still, holding a prolonged conversation was painful and he often as a result found himself reaching for that fucking notepad as a means to an end when it simply became too damned much to bear.

He hated it.

Not only was socialising his forte, but his and Y/N’s relationship usually operated with a lot of conversation as they would talk over dinner, joke when watching TV, chat or whisper to each other when laying in bed at night. And not being able to indulge in those simple things properly with his fiancée was killing him. And don't even get him going on his thoughts and anguish over the way they'd not been their usual intimate selves. From touches and sweet kisses, to sex and general intimacy, there had been none, not due to anything she'd done, but all down to him, and how he viewed himself, felt about himself. He pulled open the fridge, reaching in for the eggs and bacon before he moved to the stove, coffee brewing in the pot to the side. As he set about making them breakfast, he lost himself momentarily, concentrating on whisking the eggs ready to scramble before he heard the bedroom door click open as Y/N shuffled out into the bathroom. A few minutes later he heard her footsteps hit that squeaky board in the small hallway as she headed down to their kitchen. Soon he felt her arms around his waist, hands hooking over his chest and shoulders. Her lips pressed to the back of his shoulder. "I can take over." Quickly, Paul twisted out of her hold and raspilly said, "I can manage." She stepped back from him, and he was immediately crushed with guilt as he took in the look on her face. The way her eyes were downcast and how hard she swallowed. He watched as she blinked hard, moved her lips to say something and then she simply sighed, her shoulders dropping as she turned and left, back the way she came, down the hall and back into the bathroom. When he heard the slam of the door echo across their small apartment, Diskant threw the wooden spoon across the counter and leaned against its edge, a silent curse across his lips as let out a deep sigh.

For the last three weeks, this was how their days had started and ultimately set the tone for the hours to follow. He didn't know where to begin to try and as for Y/N, well, she couldn't try any harder.

**** The door shut behind you with a little more force than you’d meant, having slammed it by accident in your haste to escape quickly before the tears of frustration and hurt spilt from your eyes. You were trying to rationalise his behaviour, you knew he was frustrated at how his recovery was progressing, more so because physically he looked okay. But he wasn’t. He was weak, sleeping a lot. He struggled to talk for more than a few minutes at a time and the simplest of tasks seemed to leave him drained. But you could cope with that, hell, you expected it. What you hadn’t expected however, was what hurt you the most- the fact he seemed to be shutting you out. Your relationship had always thrived on the fact you had no secrets, there wasn’t a thing the pair of you couldn’t talk about but now, it was like he’d put up a wall to keep you out. And it hurt.

You turned on the shower and whilst you waited for the water to warm, you stripped off your pyjamas and made sure to pile your hair out of the way to avoid it getting wet. Once it was at the right temperature you stepped into the cubicle, closing the glass screen door behind you and tipped your face up to greet the warm spray as the water washed away your silent tears… The day had finally come and he was going home. Things were set and the car was running and waiting. He'd been able to dress in a pair of sweats, his trainers and a button down shirt, sighing as he couldn't just walk out but had to be rolled out. Words were few, and very soft, a stark difference to his typical boisterous laugh and toothy grin. But you were all thankful, thankful he was alive, thankful he was okay and healing. His parents offered to take you both home, yours and Barnes waiting for you to arrive back at the apartment. Your parents had worked diligently at deep cleaning for you, taking one less thing off your list to do, knowing the first few days home would been an adjustment period, learning how to move with one another and go about a new routine from at home therapy to outside appointments, no doubt eventually a steady stream of visitors. You honestly were fine with whatever Paul had wanted. In reality, he hadn't said much or written much on his pad of paper all morning. But you went along with it anyway. The nurse wheeled him out and you walked along his side, the feeling of relief washing over you as you stepped over the threshold of the hospital entrance and watched him breathe in his first breath of fresh air in ten days. You held back tears, thankful for your Wayfarers covering your eyes. But you didn't miss his, the way he was desperately trying to keep himself together around everyone else. He gave a nod in thanks to the nurse and slowly sat down in the back seat of his parents' SUV whilst you moved around to the other side to settle yourself in. Nothing was said, it didn't need to be, but you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as Big Jim pulled away from the curb and headed towards home. When you went to move your hand away, he gripped it tightly, looking at you with those deep pools of blue.. You wanted to reach out to him, touch him on the one place you knew comforted him, made him melt, tell him he'd be okay, reassure him, but he was to your right, therefore his sutures and bandages were along the left of his neck and you couldn't touch him there, it was still painful, raw and frail. So you let him grip your hand the whole way home, the top of it reaching his lips a few times, just so, you thought at least, that he knew you were there, reminding him he was going to be okay. That he had you. As the four of you made your way into the apartment, you remembered that Barnes, your parents and by now no doubt Sam were there waiting for you all. Sure as you'd guessed, a thundering cheer and smiles came from the living room and filtered into your kitchen. The one bedroom, small space at capacity with guests. It was not the time for a 'Welcome Home' party. As Paul gathered a moment to himself, he looked to you and signalled he needed to write something down, so you grabbed the nearest note pad and a pen, the items you always had on the coffee table that collected your lists for groceries and to do items. His 'Honey Do' list as he liked to call it. He scribbled hastily and practically shoved the pad back at you. 'Can't do this. Need time.' "Okay," you looked at him after reading, "okay." You ushered over to Big Jim and Dotty, gently telling them that he was asking for some space, and they quickly understood, saying their goodbyes as you made the rounds, hoping neither of you looked like assholes in asking everyone to leave. With deep understanding, everyone left, allowing the two of you time together. You went to the kitchen to get water for you both, sighing as you saw the fridge stocked full and a freezer full of meals. Dotty and your mother, no doubt having done all that. When you returned to the living room, just a dozen steps away, Paul was sitting on the couch, hands on his thighs, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry, I should have stepped in and said it was better to have people see you when you were ready. I didn't think...." A deep sigh interrupted you and what was an empty hand was now jotting a note again. He turned the notepad in his lap. 'I just need you.' Your lip quickly quivered and you gently leaned in to kiss his lips softly. "I'm right here." He gave you a small smile as you sat beside him.

“Do you want to shower? Eat? Sleep?" Paul frowned deeply at each of your asks. He shook his hands at you, trying to tell you to slow down. Then, you sat in silence. He slowly stood after a long stretch of nothing between you and headed down the hall to the bathroom, albeit a bit wobbly at first and when you rose to help steady him, he shrugged you off. You gave him his space, but worried about him on his own. Then you heard the click of the door and the shower running… A knock on the bathroom door dragged you from your thoughts and knowing it could only be Paul, you turned the shower off for a moment so he didn’t have to shout. “Yeah?” You cleared your throat and listened carefully. “Breakfast is waiting when you’re done.” His voice was croaky, but you picked up his words easily enough through the thin door. “Okay, give me a moment. Be right out.” You called back, no longer wondering why he didn't open the door anymore or why he locked it when he was inside. You turned the shower back on, quickly lathered up your gel before washing and stepping out, towelling down before you slipped on a lightweight robe and opened the door.

*****

He waited for her at their small kitchenette, their places set, food already plated. He admired her, how she was dressed in her robe but as his eyes moved to hers, he noticed those beautiful orbs that he loved waking up to each and every day were red and puffy, despite her shower. He watched as she moved her food around her plate, eyes cast downward at the yellow scrambled eggs, slightly runny just the way she liked them. He tried to clear his throat but it stung so he reached over the tiny table-top and touched her hand. When her eyes met his, he spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” The words died in his throat as his voice gave out and he gave an exasperated gesture mouth, a frustrated noise escaping from his nose. "It's okay," she replied, her own words catching in her throat. His chest heaved with a heavy breath and his hand flexed into a fist, redirecting his frustration to have more control of his feelings, a shake of his head. It wasn't okay. None of this was okay.

She didn't speak, she just slowly popped a shoulder with a shrug and tilted her head to the right to meet it. He could tell she was grinding her teeth, that flex in her jaw evident. She cleared her throat and shook her head, "I can't eat right now." She scooted away from the table and took her plate with her, setting it in the fridge and escaping to their room. When that door shut, Diskant rubbed his hands over his face. Things weren't going to improve between them if he didn't try to get his words out but it was fucking near impossible. And God damn it he was downright exhausted at writing it all down. He had so much to say, so much he wanted to be able to tell her but he didn't want to waste the ink. He wanted his life back. The dishes were done before they'd sat down to eat, so, wanting to give himself time and continue to give Y/N her space, he slipped into the bathroom for his own shower.

Taking a moment to figure out what exactly he was doing, Paul sighed. Shower, then figure it out with Y/N. They needed to talk, properly, even if it made him hoarse. Three weeks of struggling to just.... live and move on were enough. He brought his eyes to the mirror as his stood with his palms flat against the basin, his scar peeking out the top collar of his white tee.

He'd grown to looking in the mirror more often than when he'd first come home. His reflection made him feel somewhat of a beast, a man no longer what he once was but something of fright. The scar by no means was earth shatteringly grotesque, and Paul wasn't naturally a man of conceitedness, however, it was still a shock to see.

Not for the first him he'd wondered how it looked to Y/N. It was hideous in his mind, and he was afraid she was grossed out because of it too. The bullet had pierced through one of the places on his body where he simply relished her touch. From the friendly and tender tickle on the couch as they watched TV to the desperate way she would cling to it as she lay under him, it was just something they had shared since the start and now he held a million worries. It might hurt, maybe her touch would have lost the ability to drag the reactions it normally did, that he would have lost that special place that she only she knew about and could use to make him melt.

He was scared of his own girl’s touch, and while it was an absolute ridiculous notion, it flat out petrified him. It petrified him for the very fact that he couldn't feel ANYTHING there. Not the water that touched it, the feel of his own fingers ghosting over it or the bite of a pinch he'd given himself just to test the nerves.

He felt nothing.

He stared at his reflection, running a hand over the month long beard that had grown as of late. He wasn't supposed to shave, having been on blood thinners since his surgery, but those ran out a few days ago. Turning his head to the right, and then to the left, he sighed. Maybe he'd feel a bit better if he did…more like himself.

With a sigh he pulled the trimmers from under the sink and plugged them into the outlet. Then he started filling the sink with lukewarm water, preparing a fresh razor for use. Stripping down to his boxer briefs, he took a good look at himself, eyes burning into the mirror as he took in his pale colour, his sad eyes, the dark circles under them, no doubt result of the nightmares waking both he and Y/N in the night, and then that ugly line. He sighed as his mind travelled back to their first night home from the hospital… He hadn’t meant to push everyone away but it was overwhelming. He just wanted her. His second chance at life was handed to him and all he wanted was her, time with her. Everyone and everything else could wait. He was a little unsteady on his feet, a weak wobble really that would surely pass the more he moved but he wasn't his entirely strong self either. He felt weak, looked pale and was sporting a near two week stubble that was itchy, but there was nothing he could do about it. More pressing than the ever increasing facial hair, however, was the fact he was craving a shower. Having suffered the indignity of nothing but sponge baths and body washes in the hospital, he simply wanted nothing more than to stand under the steam of their surprisingly powerful shower, in their little bathroom and clean himself off, wash away the clinical smell of the hospital that seemed to cling to his skin.

He turned the water on first, the sound of it spraying from the shower head a joyful sound. He knew he'd have to go slow, take it easy and be gentle on himself. Paul slipped his sweats down over his narrow hips, the material pooling at his feet and he kicked them away to the corner of the space. Then, with trembling fingers, he started on his button down, swallowing back a nervous knot painfully in his throat.

By the time he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, there was a covering of steam on the mirror and he swiped at it with his hand. Then gently, ever so gently, he began to peel back the medical tape holding the gauze to his neck, knowing he’d have to replace the dressing once he’d showered. Not that it mattered, he’d been sent home with what felt like enough gauze, dressings and surgical tape to patch up a fucking army.

What he saw was not his own skin. Gone was his St. Christopher medallion on his favourite chain, one his parents had gotten him when he graduated from the Police Academy, and near where the chain would lay against his collarbone and neck was the repair hours of surgery and a week and a half in the hospital had caused him. Still, he was alive. When all was said and done, a chain could be replaced and his wound would heal.

With a final glance at his wound he carefully stepped into the hot water, and a soft moan escaped his mouth as he relished the way it felt on his skin, searing the back of his legs, his ass and lower back. He took a half step back and the water moved up to just under his shoulder blades. As the water beat down on him, he grabbed a bottle of his favoured shower gel and lathered a good amount all over himself, before rinsing and repeating the motion several times. Then, with a movement that was more reflex than conscious, he picked up Y/N's gel and turned the cap, taking a long inhale of the scent that comforted him. He felt his throat tighten and he started to panic, but quickly realized he was swallowing down a cry rather than there being a problem with his wound. He placed the gel back and turned his face into the stream of water, blinking fiercely as the tears welled and bled from his screwed up eyes, mingling with the steady droplets that hit his cheeks from the shower.

He leaned into the stream farther, allowing it to wash over his head, literally drowning out the sound of everything around him. His palms rested flat against the tile, a stretch and pull from his muscles that had atrophied during his stay. Awakening muscles and tendons that were mangled and manipulated to heal.

How long he was in there, he had no idea, but eventually, he felt the temperature starting to drop a little, signalling he'd been in there far longer than he'd intended. Reaching out, he turned the shower off and then stepped out, grabbing a towel which he ran over his head, almost snorting when he remembered his hair was no longer as short as it had been, realising that Y/N had never really seen him with hair as such before.

Because yeah, that’s what she was going to be looking at. His hair, not the huge three inch gash on his neck that made him look like some kind of fucking Frankenstein monster.

With a roll of his eyes, Paul wrapped his lower half in a towel and opened the door to the bathroom, stepping across the hall. When he entered the bedroom, he found Y/N sitting in the edge of their bed, a familiar necklace in her hands like a rosary, her knees bouncing up and down. He noted how cautiously she lifted her eyes to look at his, and didn't miss the way they quickly flicked to his wound and back to his. He felt that painful lump in his throat for again. She rose to her feet and took a step toward him.

“The chain, well... they had to cut it.” She said quietly, holding out her hand where the necklace sat. “So I got you a new one.” She held it out to him and he paused, his hand reaching towards the chain “The pendant was fine so...”

He reached out to take it, his fingers softly brushing her palm as he clasped the metal in his hands. He turned the small, silver disk over and gave her a small smile before he placed it on his nightstand.

“Do you want me to put it on?” She asked, moving to pick it up. “I can-"

With a movement that was a little harsher than he’d meant he reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it still a few inches away from the chain. She turned to look at him, a combination of shock and puzzlement on her face as he hastily shook his head.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Taking a deep breath, Paul ran his hand over his face and shook his head at her. “S’okay.” Were the only words he could manage to rasp out. His eyes bored into her as he desperately tried to make her understand he wasn’t angry at her.

"I'll uh... You start getting dressed and I'll grab the bag from the hospital."

“Bag?” He half spoke, half mouthed at her, his brow creasing in puzzlement.

"The one with the bandages."

He shook his head, waving his hands. “I can-“ his voice broke and she smiled.

“Paul, it’s fine, let me...”

He once more shook his head.

“Baby...”

At that his fist slammed on the nightstand and making her jump.

Her breath was shaky and her lip quivered, her eyes instantly watering. He knew for a fact he'd scared Y/N for he'd never reacted like that in any situation with her.

Backing away from him, she held her hands up defensively and shrugged, "Okay, I'll just go get it for you."

As he recalled the memory, his head hung in disgrace, much the same as it had that evening when she’d left the room, tears in her eyes. He hadn’t meant to push her away like he had, but since that first time he’d continued to do so. And the more he did, the harder it was to stop. And she took it, never biting back or losing her patience. She accepted the fact that he showed her less affection, took everything he threw at her and then some, because she loved him. And damned it, he loved her, he loved her so fucking much it truly, physically hurt. And the thought that he was hurting her because of his inability to sort the jumbled mess in his head was killing him.

Taking a deep breath, he set out on the task he'd started. A shave and a shower. The vibration of the trimmers hummed against his cheeks and neck, trimming away the longer hairs, creating a stubble he then fully removed with his cream and razor. Then, he showered, taking his time, losing himself in his thoughts and playing back the last month in his mind. It was no walk in the park and a frustration and anger bubbled just beneath the surface, it was like he'd recognized he wasn't the same. And was fighting a never ending battle with himself to pull out of the darkness that had overcome him so he could let her light shine in. Fuck it, he needed to do it. He needed to rip the proverbial fucking band aid off and own up to his shit. Because losing her, that was absolutely not an option.

But how? Would she be willing? After all he'd put her through. He was still scared, and he knew his own limits were still there. But they had to start connecting or he was going to lose her. He felt it.

Towelling off, he disposed of his laundry in the dirty hamper and wrapped his towel around him. He looked in the mirror and again wiped off the condensation. He nodded at his reflection. Now he looked like Diskant. HER Disco. He smiled a little to himself and left the bathroom, feeling a lot different than when he'd entered.

When she wasn't in their room, he dressed in jeans and a tee, flip flops on his feet and headed down their small hall. He saw her tucked into the couch, a slouched long sleeve over her taught frame, denim shorts on those hips and legs that made his mouth dry. He could see the smoothness of them and his fingers tingle to touch them. Deep red painted toes balanced on the edge of the coffee table as she read the book she'd started recently.

He sat down next to her, garnering her attention. She looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers. Those eyes that make him weak. Make him purr and melt and feel like he can conquer the world all at once. Those eyes that make him feel like a man above himself.

At the risk of losing his voice entirely, he began with, "I feel cooped up and it's driving me crazy. Can we go somewhere?"

A smile so genuine spread across her lips that it twisted his gut and sped up his heart. "Yeah, okay. Any idea where?"

He shook his head, "I just want to go. I want us to get out of here." He made sure emphasize the us in that reply, even if it didn't sound as so.

"Okay, let's go," she tossed her book on the coffee table and stood, grabbing her bag by the door and slipping into flip flops of her own.

****

You humoured his request, just to go for a drive. And you drove for hours, all over the place. But little did you realize where you'd end up eventually.

It was late in the day and the parking lot was emptying out. You'd pulled into a spot and turned to him, the Ferris wheel and various stands along the pier behind you. His eyes were covered by his own Wayfarers but his smile was soft and sweet.

"I'm kinda hungry, are you hungry?" You said to him, a humorous tone to your voice. Your words echoing ones he'd spoken to you so long ago, words that had become an inside joke between you.

He chuckled lightly, softly and replied with a nod as the two of you exited the car. You waited for him to meet you on your side. The second he joined you, he took your hand in his and together you walked the bike path until the steps up to the pier were accessible.

He stood at the railing, about halfway down, as you ordered two beers, two hot dogs and fries to share. The sun was just at the horizon, painting the sky in watercolour sherbet, and Paul's silhouette stood out against it. He saw you approach and grabbed his dog and beer from you, lightening your load. The two of you shacked up at a table near the games, almost the same table the two of you sat at on your first date.

“You know, I was suckered into a first date here? Guy was a total swindler, stalker too."

He swallowed his bite of food and washed it down with beer before he smiled and rasply said, "you were willing to go with me. I didn't sucker you."

“You totally trapped me.”

"You needed help, I offered," he pointed to himself, then to you and smiled, "willing participant."

"However you spin it so you can sleep at night," you sighed. "I'm just glad I fell for it."

Paul nodded, "me too." He perched his sunglasses on top of his head. "I love you, so much." He took your beer from your hand and set it on the table top, whilst pulling both of your hands into his.

You couldn't hide the obvious hitch in your chest at the outward affection. The lump in your throat hurt to swallow as your eyes welled up. "I know, I love you, too. More than anything." You fought the emotion in your words, the way they were starting to make your voice quiver.

He sighed at your emotion and shook a deep breath. “This isn't easy." He stalled, allowing his voice rest a second in order to keep trying to get his words out. "I'm not easy." He paused again. "I’m sorry.”

"It's okay," you shook your head.

"It's not." His voice was starting to give way again and you saw the frustration on his face.

“Hey...” you squeezed his hand, “I’d rather you did take it out in me than bottle it all up. I don’t like it when you don’t tell me how you’re feeling.” It broke you to watch him struggle, each and every day it broke you. And you were at the end of your rope, frayed and tired of keeping it together. You sighed. “Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Text me for Christ's sake!”

He chortled a bit and shook his head, "it's not the same." He brought your hands to his lips and you closed your eyes at the feeling it gave you.

You shook your head, if he wasn't going to make the first move then you needed to try. "Do you trust me?"

He frowned and nodded. “Always.”

Without words, you leaned forward, scooting yourself onto the edge of his seat bench and leaned the forearm to your left arm against his right shoulder. Your fingers scratching behind his ear. Gently you brought your right hand up his chest, slowly, delicately, over his shoulder and he flinched away from you. "Paul, please," you whispered. You could see the way his body started to shake, his breathing laboured. "It's just me, baby."

The closer your fingers got, the more his hands twitched to pull you away. You didn't know for certain what was going on on the inside, but you had a pretty good idea. On the outside, his eyes shone back at you with fear as he tried to just breathe. Then your fingertips brushed the raised pink skin that just peeked over the edge of his tee…

The pads of her fingers felt like red, hot needles the way his skin was reacting. But that was nothing compared to what was firing in his brain.

He clenched his teeth together, tried to keep his breathing calm and regular as those gentle fingers that could make him purr and sing moved delicately over the raised edges of his scar, her eyes never once leaving his. Quickly, the feeling of red hot needles dissipated and he felt nothing but a relief that washed over him from his scar to his toes. He could just feel her and that was monumental.

A deep, shaky breath rumbled his chest as he painfully swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing it all twitched under her touch. It felt the same. Nothing had changed, that familiar tingle he usually felt at her touch sparked something deep inside. The involuntary little shudder he always emitted when she hit that little sweet spot, shot up and down his spine and he felt his lips curl up on a smile as his girl beamed at him.

“See.” She whispered.

“How...” his voice croaked and the words died as he took a deep breath, giving himself a moment. “How did you know that was...” another pause before he shook his head, gesturing to his mouth.

“Because, Paul Christopher Diskant, I know you inside out.” She delicately touched him still, her nails just at that spot that made him quiver. "This doesn't change anything. Not now, not ever."

He let out a strained sob, pulling her close, his lips harshly on hers.

“Tell me about it, Stud.” She smiled against his lips.

"Let's go home," he managed before his voice cut out again.

“Is that an order or a request?” She teased.

He grinned and popped a shoulder in response.

The drive from Santa Monica to home was the most comfortable you'd been in weeks, and you could tell Paul was too. As you drove, he couldn't stop smiling, like this weight had been lifted and the fog between you cleared. His eyes didn't leave your profile, his fingers entwined between yours, never letting go.

****

His hand never left yours as you walked the short path from the garage to your little one bedroom shack, even single-handed unlocking and opening the door. You couldn't even step through the threshold before his lips were on yours, soft and slow, gentle, his tongue gliding through the opening you gave him. A kiss so deep you were sure the two of you were ethereally floating. You tossed your bag on the couch as you passed it by, toeing off your sandals as Paul gently tugged on your hand, an instruction to follow him.

Down the narrow hall you went, directly to your bedroom tucked off in the right corner at the end of it. Again, his lips are on yours and if you didn't know any better, you'd detected a slight tremble in his touch as his hands came to hold your face close to his. Your hands rested against his chest as he kissed you breathless. There was no rush or desperation behind his kiss, if anything a wanton need crept through the both of you but you weren't going to push him, no. You knew Paul needed to set the pace, for whilst you could read him like a book, this terrain was new and navigating his new emotions and fears needed to be on his time and terms.

You were just happy he was touching you again, allowing you to touch him. You missed him, missed the way the two of you were. This had by far been the longest the two of you had been intimately separated since your beginning.

His hands left your cheeks and gently gripped at the bottom of your top. You stepped back a little, raising your arms so he could pull it straight over your head. You watched his eyes soften as he looked at you, almost like he was seeing you for the first time again. You reached for the hem of his own shirt, but he took a half step back, freezing you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, “if you’re not ready, leave it on or... it can wait, we can wait.”

He swallowed hard and quickly his hand gripped the back of his collar, pulling the tee over his head. You took care to keep your eyes locked on his, knowing exactly what was making him nervous- his scars. As his eyes searched yours, your face broke into a smile and then he was back on you, his hands on your hips, pulling you close as his mouth claimed yours. His hands felt warm on your skin as they travelled up your sides, only letting go to move to your jaw and neck. His thumbs across your cheek, his fingers splayed around your neck and into your hair.

He kissed you with all tongue, his lips massaging against yours as he changed the position of his head, tilting it the opposite way. And for a moment he pulled away, his hands still on you, the burn of his eyes lustfully blown as they bore into yours. Then, he moved in on you again, his nose bumping against yours as his thick, flat tongue filled your mouth fully, yours submitting against it, allowing him to devour you. It was as if he was opening up your soul, tasting feeling and seeing every colour of the rainbow. You felt as if your body was going to explode with the feeling sheer desire and love flooding hours state, but above it all, happiness that he was kissing you like this again.

It left you breathless and wanting more. You actively fought the urge to rip his belt buckle open and shove his jeans down, trying hard to leave him to set the pace. But, as always, he could read you like the pages of a well-worn novel and that maddeningly smug, cheeky school-boy grin crossed his face. It twisted your insides and made your skin tingle.

His fingers wound through your hair as he backed you towards the mattress. As the crook of your knees hit the side of the bed, he kissed you again, his fingers moving to the button of your denim shorts. Your mind was excited, your body fully responding to his touch, his movements. You’d missed this. His fingertips touched your tummy and you shivered, the denim quickly falling away as you fell onto the mattress.

You watched as he undid his button and flies, the zipper echoing in the stillness of your room, bouncing off the exposed brick and vibrating in your ears. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his denims, strong thighs, arms and taught abs flexing as he crawled over you, his hands planting either side of your head. The muscles of his shoulders twitched as he lowered himself over you, his lips claiming yours in a slow dance, his tongue leisurely tangling with yours, a soft sigh escaping him.

You continued to resist the urge to touch him where you have always shown him you're there with him, that part of him that makes him sing and shiver. That spot that only you know of that makes him melt against you, submit to his lust and desires for you. Instead, as his tongue felt every part of yours, his hands caging himself over you, you tilted your hips, your hands grazing the underside of his biceps, curling around the raised skin of his tattoos. At the feel of your pelvis bumping his, he gave a little grunt, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing to yours as he returned the gesture, his own grinding into yours, the hardness of his arousal unmistakable through his boxer briefs as it brushed against the thin cotton and lace of your panties. His words hit your ears, "need you, Sugar, so bad." You practically purred as you heard your nickname clearly and for the first time in weeks, not strangled by pain, or muted by frustration. His voice was his own once again and it caused a sting in your eyes. Your hands moved along his torso, from his ribs down to his hips, the waistband of his boxers bent by your fingertips. All whilst his lips moved over your jaw, behind your ear where you gasped before he moved down your neck, nestling soft kisses against the tops of your breasts. “You got me, Stud. Always.” At that, he crashed his lips to yours in an attempt to hide the sob you could faintly feel against your own lips.

Your hands gently cupped his jaw, holding his face to yours as the kiss grew desperate, his hips rolling into yours again. Suddenly, he moved back, kneeling between your legs as his hands hooked into the waistband of your panties. “Off.” His voice was raspy once more as he issued the instruction, yet the undercurrent of desire was unmistakable. Obliging to his instruction, you raised your hips off the bed and allowed him to pull them down, his body shuffling along the bed as he glided the garment down over your legs. His heavy hands caressed up your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles over your skin. God, did your skin burn in delight at his touch, you had to wonder and think if he felt the same. There was no denying he did, or you wouldn't be here, you'd still be at the pier, figuring out how to navigate his feelings, his fears. His body led over you, your sex and his barely touching, but yet twitching and pulsing with deep desires of need. His hand pulled down the cup of your bra, his mouth taking gentle nips against your breast as his mouth moved to your nipple, where he gently rolled it between his lips before his tongue swirled the sensitive nub. Your back arched in pleasure, one hand twisting in his hair, the other fisting in the sheets besides you. His free hand slipping behind your back to expertly unclasp your bra, allowing it to loosen around your arms. "Paul...." you moaned. His free hand reached for yours that was fisted in the sheets, pulling your fingers apart and taking your palm against his, entwining your fingers. You were more than ready for him. Like he needed you, you just needed him too. It took one rock, one hip thrust and he slid right inside. "Oh fuck," you both let out, his a good rasp and yours a whimper. It felt so good, beyond good, the way he filled you, stretched you. You wasted no time in flicking your hips up towards his as he thrust down. Your insides fluttered as you joined together each time. God, did it feel... so... fucking... good. Again and again he rocked into you, his movements needy but not harsh, as a desperate need filled you both. You lightly nudged him with a knee and together you rolled, him to his back and you over his hips, still with him settled inside you. Tossing your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes, you rocked against him whilst he reached up and held your bouncing breasts in his hands, a gentle tweak of each nipple. The sensation sent ripples to your middle, warmth pooling at your core and you gave a soft moan of delight before you bent forward, your lips on his. The kiss was sloppy, his hips still rocking up into you as your pelvis rolled against his. You were close, you knew he could feel you twitching around him. Your lips were covering his as you slowly bounced and rocked on top of him, a pressure to your clit that was blissfully crippling.

In a sudden exertion of strength, Paul sat up and his arms wrapped around your back, holding you close to his chest, his lips moving over your collar bone and down your sternum. He was as deep inside you as he could go, bottoming out as the angle changed and he was clearly hitting a new spot that erupted your insides like a volcano. Your body shook as your orgasm boiled at its peak, with each jut of his hips against you. With one hand around you, the other moving hair away from your eyes and keeping it back by his fingers, his nose rubbed against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he brought your lips to his. You were going to come and it was going to be absolutely amazing. Deepening your kiss, your fingers scratched at the back of his neck, just at the nape of his hairline and you started to feel him quiver. There he was, right there, like always. Your lips broke free from his and nipped at his strong jaw before kissing at the joint where it met his ear. You were careful now, despite the throws of your own orgasm starting to crash around you, to weigh your moves with precise care as you gently, delicately kissed down his neck. Your lips hit that pinkish-red raised mark and your world exploded. The blood surged to your ears, deafening you as you came, hard. Your eyes fluttered closed but the noise he made broke through clear as day, and they flew open again. Those beautiful blues were locked into your gaze as his broken whimper of your name blew into a loud groan as he clung to you, his hips stilling, his eyes fluttering shut. His noise died down, catching in his throat, his chest heaving as you felt him twitch inside of you, the after-throws of both your orgasms pulsing together. Tenderly, your hands slid up to cup his face as you kissed him softly, feeling him sag a little, and you gently pushed on his chest. You didn’t want him to release his hold but you knew he was going to be exhausted. He didn’t take much persuasion, his body boneless as he sank onto the soft mattress behind him. You went with him, your head tucking under his chin as the pair of you recovered, the only sound in the room the dying pants as you both eagerly drew breath.

His hand slipped into your hair, cradling the back of your head as you shifted and pressed your lips to his jaw.

“You okay?” You asked.

He nodded, swallowing hard as his other arm ran up and down your spine, fingers gently tracing a path along your still touch sensitive body. His lips pressed to the crown of your head.

When you'd regained the feeling of life back into to your body, you sat up, rolling off of Paul's hips, garnering a look of confusion from him. He loved when you would keep him inside you, and continue to feel the warmth of one another's bodies. You smiled softly at him, sleepily. You saw the look on his face, the look of contentment but of need and seeking comfort. It was a look you'd come to memorize as his 'I'm tired' look. Soft features, heavy eyes. Blissed out from love making or not, Paul was exhausted and you read every hint of it you memorized over the years.

"C'mere," you now rasped, your voice rattled by emotion and dry from moaning.

His lazy smirk crossed his lips and he knew that tone. He knew what was coming next. He rolled to his left and pressed his lips to yours gently before laying his head on your chest. You traced your first two fingers gently up and down his neck, along his shoulder and back up, a repeated pattern you only you had the map to.

A combination of a contented sigh with a little hum left his throat as his weight over you grew heavier, like the comfort of a weighted blanket. You blinked back the tears, because although you'd heard it time and time again, right then, it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever made.

**** Part 5

#rock n roll people in a disco world #paul diskant x reader #paul diskant x you #Paul Diskant #paul diskant fan fiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #street kings fan fic

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lacrimosathedark · 4 years

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Hamilton Inaccuracies/Corrections (because why not?)

Okay so, I saw a post on reddit that was like, “what’s some inaccuracies in Hamilton off the top of your head?” and I got a whole bunch...and then I had to double check to make sure if I was right...and I’m pretty long-winded...and now I have this 5,000ish word monstrosity. And apparently you can only post 1000 characters at a time on reddit. Laaaaame. So here’s some Hamilton facts I’ve gathered in my brain. Since it was kinda off the top of my head despite being so long, it’s kinda vague in some places, so if anyone wants to expand on anything (or correct me if I oopsed somewhere) please do! Though nicely please.

Also I am also awful at citing things, but I know I learned some of this from @john-laurens and @ciceroprofacto so thank you.

LET’S BEGIN!

Act 1

Rachel Faucette was not a prostitute, but she was a “whore” in the sense that she did what she fucking wanted with her body. During her first marriage she may or may not have been sleeping around, but she refused to stay with John Lavien, her husband, anymore. So he had her arrested. And he could do that. Because patriarchy and theocracy. And she was essentially put in solitary confinement. You can see why she tried to leave, right? She tried to get their marriage annulled or get a divorce. I forget what the issue was but she couldn’t and eventually she just moved to another island where she met James Hamilton.

The intro song makes it seem like Alexander was an only child. He actually had an older brother, James Jr., but he kinda fucked off after their mother died, working and taking care of himself. They also had an older half-brother Peter Lavien, but I don’t think they really knew him other than as the son of their mother’s abusive ex who took everything from them when she died. John Lavien was able to do that because when Rachel was with James Hamilton, she had not been able to get legally divorced from him so she wasn’t really married to James Hamilton, so James Jr. and Alexander were illegitimate ie bastards. He was an asshole. I don't think Peter had anything against the Hamiltons, but I think he grew up to be a Loyalist so. He actually made some trouble in South Carolina for Henry Laurens, John's dad! But I think I read somewhere he also left money for Alex and James Jr. In his will, which is sweet.

This is more visual since it’s not specified in the song, but in the show, Hamilton’s cousin mimes hanging himself. Peter Lytton’s cause of death if I recall was inconclusive, but he was in his bed and there was a lot of blood. So, yeah, he didn’t hang himself.

Alexander did not punch the bursar. However he did return to Princeton later during the war and blew a canon through the school and apparently decapitated a painting of King George lololol. He was under orders, but yknow. Probably felt pretty good after he was rejected for accelerated courses. He wasn’t the only bastard rejected, though! Ben Franklin’s bastard son was too. The guy in charge of admissions, Witherspoon, hated bastards as a concept and Princeton was a very religious school at the time I believe.

It may have been the plan by Aaron and Esther Burr for Aaron Jr to graduate Princeton, but like, he couldn’t really be sure of that? He was like 2 years old when they died, and his older sister Sally was 4 I believe, maybe 5.

Hercules Mulligan met Alex in 1772. His older brother Hugh knew Alex’s old employer in St. Croix and helped him get to mainland America. Alex and Hercules lived together for a long while, and Hercules is actually who got him interested in the revolution.

John Laurens was in England in 1776. He wouldn’t meet Hamilton and Lafayette until he accepted his post as Washington’s aide-de-camp upon his return in August of 1777.

Lafayette couldn’t have met Hamilton before August 1777 because that’s when he met Washington, and he was appointed as a volunteer to the Continental Army only a week prior, and before that he had been in France. But Lafayette later declared their relationship to be like that of brothers, Alexander his closest connection in the states besides Washington.

Lafayette admired and absolutely adored Laurens and they were besties, but neither of them knew Mulligan. They may have met in passing, or heard about him from Hamilton, but nothing more.

“Lafayette” was actually a nickname based on his title of “Marquis de la Fayette”. In his autobiography, he wrote: “It’s not my fault I was baptized like a Spaniard, with the name of every conceivable saint who might offer me more protection in battle.” I’m glad he thought it was funny at least. His name is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de la Fayette.

Hercules Mulligan is not known to fuck horses.

The Revolution had already sorta started. Actually, Hercules and Alexander had been part of local militias before 1776.

This is more of a miscommunication since the actors are close in age, though the lyrics try to get it across. There’s a reason Mulligan says he’s got the others “in loco parentis”. In 1776 Hamilton and Lafayette would have been 19, Laurens would have been 22, and Mulligan would have been 36.

I think we all know “Laurens, I like you a lot” does not cover the scope of their relationship but that’s rather self explanatory so unless someone asks I’ll leave it at that. And for other clarifications. But at the very least I’ll share this: Anyone who saw them knew they were like attached at the hip (without knowing how attached *winkwonk*) and you could almost always contact one through the other. Laurens was notoriously bad at answering letters, to Hamilton too (and Alex did bitch about it because he is insecure and needs love), but it became quickly known he got back to Hamilton fastest so people would be like “Tell Laurens I said hi!” or “Hey, I need to get these to Laurens, you send them to him.” Which is hilarious. I just imagine Alexander going, “Why me?”

While all of them are Revolutionaries, Laurens is the only one you could solidly call an abolitionist, and Mulligan’s even shaky on the manumission part. He was supposedly part of the Manumission Society Hamilton helped start, but Mulligan also personally owned slaves and was never known to have freed them (One helped him with spy shit. His name was Cato!). In fairness, Hamilton and Lafayette wholeheartedly agreed with Laurens, and Hamilton was the biggest supporter of his battalion plan, and both of them did try to continue working towards equality after the war, but it was never the top priority for either of them and their lives kinda went to hell, so it fell to the wayside. Lafayette actually did some nifty stuff worth looking at, and Hamilton might have tried to keep one of John Lauren’s freed men from Henry Laurens! But as slavery stuck around for a while, it clearly wasn’t anything significant.

Angelica would meet and befriend Thomas Jefferson in Europe, but she would never manage to convince him to put women in a sequel because he’s a huge misogynist and told her in multiple letters that politics isn’t for women and I think he deserves a shoe up his southern backside. Side note, it always bothered me that Lin played up the misogyny in the musical. I mean, yeah, all of them would be misogynists compared to us, but for their time, Hamilton wasn’t so bad. If there was anyone to play up misogyny with, it was Jefferson, because he would tell Angelica for years and years that politics could never make women happy, and that the women in France were foolish for trying etc.. Hamilton would actually discuss politics with Angelica frequently and openly. And there’s a proto-feminist in the cast that was never recognized—Aaron Burr! He respected Theodosia Sr. as an equal and she was his most valuable political ally, and he made sure Theodosia Jr. got the same education any boy of her time would have. He actually respected women to a decent degree. Not to say he wasn't as much of a ho as Hamilton cuz yeah that's accurate (but they were both disaster bisexuals more on Burr's sexuality later)

Farmer Refuted was an essay Hamilton wrote arguing against Samuel Seabury's posts. They weren't shouting in the public square(but Lin got the sass right. I love his face when Hamilton and Seabury are fighting over the podium). Seabury was also really really old, not young and cute like Thayne, hence the line about "mange". Blech.

General Montgomery didn’t take a bullet in the neck, it was a grapeshot from a canon in his head (and his thighs), but close enough I guess. Side note: Burr actually served a short interim on Washington’s staff, but only for like 10 days because they hated each other lolol.

Alexander didn’t bring Laurens, Mulligan, or Lafayette to Washington. Lafayette joined up with the Continental Army in 1777 and quickly convinced them he wasn’t like the other French nobles; he was a glory-seeking kid with a boner for America (for some reason???). Laurens was requested by Washington to join his military family and he arrived also in August 1777 just after Lafayette. Like previously stated, Mulligan was doing shit even before Hamilton did.

Alexander would not have been in charge of spy shit (though may have been somewhat involved). Washington had people like Mulligan for that, who actually saved Washington a few times. But also, the "King’s men who might let some things slide" was the tactic Mulligan used. He was actually very charming, and his wife was very high in British society and he was a skilled tailor, so they were thought of well among the redcoats, and he got a lot of information through chatting with his customers. He also could usually smooth-talk his way out of trouble. Actually, Mulligan blended in so well, when the war was over, people in the city wanted him out cuz they thought he was a Loyalist. So George fucking Washington paid him a visit and commissioned I think a coat from him, and that cleared that up. He got a LOT of business after that.

Alexander would not be Washington’s right hand man, or at least, not his only one if Lin was using that to mean aide-de-camp. In that case, Laurens would also be Washington’s right hand man, along with many men not named in the musical.

John Laurens may have been reliable with the ladies (comes with the territory of being hot, rich, and a perfect gentleman), but he most certainly didn’t want to be. His father noted, rather proudly at the time, that as a young teenager he expressed no interest in girls. John was also married by 1780, and at least Alexander knew. (he told John he'd found out in the well-known April 1779 letter. You know... “Cold in my professions...find me a wife...the length of my nose...” That one.) Because John apparently didn't tell people he was married. Laurens. Sweetheart. Get. Your. Shit. Together.

John also would not be at this ball. February 1779 to March 1780 he is fighting down south, and this ball was early 1780.

The tomcat thing may be half true. Martha Washington did supposedly name a cat Hamilton, but it was an affectionate thing. The slang tomcat meaning ho wasn’t a thing at that time, so it couldn’t be named to tease Alex for his promiscuity. I believe this was one of the many things John Adams made up to slander Hamilton.

Hamilton and Eliza had met before 1780. They had met once two years prior at a dinner her father had hosted. Also, Hamilton had been courting her friend Kitty Livingston, and his friend and fellow aide Tench Tilghman had been attempting to court Eliza, and they’d actually done at least one sort-of double date (which is adorable). So this shouldn’t have been the first time they’d seen each other. Could still be when they fell in love, though, since they started courting after this. Which is cute to think about.

Speaking of Tench and Eliza! I don't remember when this took place but Tilghman journaled it, he went out on something of a hike with a few ladies and they got to a cliff. Of course, he had to help the girls climb up. Except Eliza who started climbing by herself like a natural to the bewilderment and likely horror of the other ladies. Elizabeth Schuyler was a bamf okay?

Of course everyone knows by now, Angelica was married before Eliza. During the Winter’s Ball, she’d already eloped with Jack Carter aka John Barker Church and run away to Boston.

Their courtship was not that fast. Not like, weeks. More like months. Fun fact, Eliza is the only of the five (yes FIVE) Schuyler sisters who didn’t elope and actually got her parents permission! But here’s a heartbreaking fun fact: while Alex was courting Eliza, Laurens was taken prisoner and then on probation. He wasn’t allowed to leave the state of Pennsylvania. He was mentally in a very dark place. Alex kind of procrastinated telling Laurens about Eliza, didn’t say he was courting anyone until they were already engaged.

I can't leave this alone if I'm sad you have to be too. Alex was hella depressed during this time too. Of course he was a soldier so he couldn't see Eliza as much as he'd have liked. On top of that, he kept pushing for an exchange for John and kept getting rejected because they couldn't show preference for him. And then Laurens was sending him very few letters, of course, and the ones he did send were very depressed, even suicidal sounding. He had to work while dealing with that. He had to keep begging Eliza to write to him to be reassured that she still liked him.

No one could show up for Hamilton for the wedding. Some sources say fellow aide James McHenry showed up, but he’s the only one. Alexander even invited his deadbeat dad, offered to pay all his travel expenses and everything, guess how that turned out. So Eliza’s side of the hall was packed and his was empty. God, can you imagine how sad that is?

Another heartbreaking fun fact! John Laurens was out of probation and could have made it to the wedding, was invited (Hamilton, I kid you not, jokingly invited him to a threesome with his new wife in a letter: “I wish you were at liberty to transgress the bounds of Pensylvania. I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation.” (emphasis is original to Hamilton. As is the misspelling of Pennsylvania. Yes, seriously.)) and John did not go. Instead he went back to work trying to talk his way out of getting sent as an envoy to France and suggesting Alexander to take his place. You know. His boyfriend who just got married. Sure, he was right that Hamilton was better equipped for the job, but yknow. Another fun fact, one of the guys who voted for John to be the one to go to France was John’s ex-boyfriend Francis Kinloch. Who was a turncoat, and had been a royalist when he and Laurens split. How’s that for some twisty bullshit.

Sorry, this one isn’t about the musical, it’s a tangent, I just got excited about that quote. Both that style of innuendo and the misspelling of Pennsylvania are consistent in Hamilton’s writing. Listening to john-lauren’s podcast about the April 1779 letter can really help you understand how Hammy uses innuendo but also I just love listening to it it’s insightful and hilarious and I love John Laurens but y u do this and my heart hurts for Hamilton but he is also a ho but aNYWAY. As for Pensylvania...well, he kinda made that mistake on an important document. ...It’s The Constitution. He misspelled Pennsylvania on The Constitution. No big deal. Not like something that could haunt his legacy forever. Oh my god I’m so sorry.

Philip Schuyler did have sons. Five in fact. Two of them died pretty young though I think, considering there are three kids in a row named John Bradstreet Schuyler. The other two were named Philip Jeremiah and Rensselaer.

Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan were all married before Hamilton. Hercules Mulligan married Elizabeth Sanders in 1773. Lafayette married his beloved Adrienne in 1774. John Laurens was regretfully obliged to marry Martha Manning in 1776.

Sigh. Again with the misogyny. Anyway, I wanted to comment on the marriage as a loss of freedom. From what I can tell, Elizabeth helped Hercules with his spy work at home. John was literally fighting a war across the ocean from his wife, and probably having an illegal affair with Alexander (though to be fair to him, he was kind of running away from Martha because he didn't marry her for love, gosh, there are no winners here). Lafayette absolutely adored his wife but still was also fighting a war an ocean away, and had multiple affairs, at least one with his wife’s blessing. So yeah, losing your freedom with marriage? Bullshit.

Despite where it is in the musical and Eliza singing the beginning, Stay Alive is roughly about Valley Forge, which would be December of 1777 through June of 78. So before the ball and wedding. (Fun fact! A lot of people theorize Valley Forge as when Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship may have escalated into romantic and/or sexual territory. They may have had more privacy, as small temporary buildings were being made to better withstand the cold, and Hamilton was sick a lot during that time and did need tending a lot. West Indian boi did not like Northern winter.) But yeah, Congress being stupid and the army resorting to eating their horses sometimes and not being able to buy food and equipment? All true. It was a real bad winter.

Mulligan wouldn’t have to go back to New York, he never would have left. He remained there as a tailor and a spy throughout the war. He wouldn’t have been traveling with Washington.

Hamilton and Laurens didn't write essays so much as start working out John's battalion plan and writing letters trying to push for it.

This duel happened in 1778, so like. This timeline is so fucky.

Stay Alive makes it seem like Hamilton was the one who wanted to duel Lee, but it was 100% Laurens from the start. The off-Broadway version demonstrates it a bit better. Hamilton was Lauren's second to save his ass. Hamilton had a rough relationship with Washington, but Laurens admired him greatly and would have willingly defended his commander’s honor. John was a Good Boy who always bowed his head to his asshole father, even at first for his battalion plan, but John wouldn’t let even his father talk shit about Washington. Fun fact about this duel, Alex and John were late to the duel because they “got lost in the woods”. Oooookay. Suuuuuuure. And Baron von Steuben was straight. (Fact: Steuben was very gay and pretty much pushed out of Europe for it. And he actually also had challenged Lee! They talked things out before this.)

Aaron Burr was not Charles Lee’s second. His second was a Major Evan Edwards. Lin wanted a parallel with the final duel. To be fair, that was a really cool way to do it and I like it better that way.

Alexander Hamilton could NOT agree that duels are dumb and immature. He was in 10 duel challenges as a participant in his lifetime, 9 of which he was the challenger. One time he challenged two people at once. One time he challenged an entire politcal party apparently. No, I am not kidding. He had a bad day. And I think you know the one time he wasn’t the challenger.

Lee did not yield on the first shot, nor was Laurens satisfied. Lee was pretty much like, “It’s just a flesh wound!” and wanted to go another round and Laurens agreed, but Hamilton and Edwards managed to talk them down. Yes he was shot in the side. But that wasn’t all because Laurens absolutely roasted Lee at his court martial.

Lee: Were you ever in an action before?

Laurens: I have been in several actions; I did not call that an action, as there was no action previous to the retreat.

I love this man. So much. The sass of this man.

We don’t know if Washington was angry about the duel with Lee. We do know that Laurens, and probably Hamilton, had Christmas dinner with him two days later. When Hamilton left, it was because Washington had snapped over a misunderstanding (caused by Lafayette actually, and he really tried to make it better because Lafayette is a sweetheart), and then continued to deny Hamilton the command he requested, and he resigned. It was entirely unrelated to the duel and Laurens. However, the daddy issues are real.

I don’t know if Lafayette went to France for more funds and came back with more guns, but Laurens certainly did! Ben Franklin told him to chill, but he actually got super impatient and ended up supposedly disrespecting and maybe kinda threatening the court, demanding what he needed, and walking out. They were were kind of shocked and impressed into giving more than had been requested. Any existing deities bless John Laurens. I love him.

Lafayette actually nominated his own aide to lead the charge and Hamilton appealed for himself and Washington finally gave in to Hamilton.

Laurens was not in South Carolina. When he finally got back from France, he was sent to Yorktown. He actually was commanding the group Alexander led. (Power couple lol) He also helped with negotiations after the battle. Also, supposedly making the British play ‘The World Turned Upside Down’ on their way out was Laurens’ idea because boy is made of sass and spite.

Henry Laurens would not have sent a letter to Hamilton about John’s death. Even if he would have, he couldn’t. At that time, he’d been locked up in the Tower of London as a prisoner. We have no idea when or how Alexander found out, or who might have told him. We know he wrote to Nathanael Greene on October 25 and Lafayette on November 3 (literally 2 months after Laurens' death), and the mentions of Laurens were very short. It’s thought that he really couldn’t talk about Laurens. People have compared it to the stories of how Benjamin Tallmadge apparently couldn’t hear Nathan Hale’s name without crying.

After Yorktown Alexander resigned and John went down south to flush British troops out of the southern states. His group was ambushed at Combahee River and he decided to charge instead of wait for backup and he died. Many people think it was a combination of his usual recklessness, suicidality, and glory-seeking mixed with a desperation with the war coming to an end. It was such a small skirmish. He deserved better. He left his daughter, Frances, whom he had never met, orphaned, as her mother had died months earlier from sickness. She was adopted by John’s oldest younger sister, also coincidentally Martha Laurens (though married was Martha Laurens Ramsay).

The Levi Weeks case was years later than that, in 1800, though it was alongside Burr. Hamilton actually lost his first trial as a defense lawyer and was not with Burr.

The whole conversation where Hamilton proposes Burr help him write the Federalist Papers is fake. Lin made that up entirely.

John Church’s wealth kinda...varies. He was a gambler. At first, he was actually in quite a bit of debt. He did make it big eventually and he and Angelica moved to Europe. He really didn’t seem to be a lot of fun to most people, but Angelica eloped with him. She chose him against her father’s wishes. I don’t get why Lin kept writing lines saying she didn’t love him, at least at first. He also does this in the cut song Congratulations where she says “I languished in a loveless marriage” bish you eloped wat She also lived as a socialite and was adored by anyone who met her apparently, so like???? da fuq Lin. Didja really do Laurens dirty for these lies or at the very least uncertanties? Could you not prop up that romance without making her say she hates her husband?

Act 2

More of a personality miscommunication. Irl Thomas Jefferson was shy, quiet, and hypersensitive, nothing like how Daveed plays him. If you knew a guy like the real Jefferson in real life you might be endeared to him out of pity or because he seems sweet, but in the short time of a musical that would immediately be read as cold and unlikable. So the best way to portray “this guy is a likable asshole” is to make him loud and made of sass which is what Daveed does magnificently. So, not at all accurate to real Jefferson, but gets the concept of him across.

Thomas was not off getting high with the French. Probably. He was making negotiations for the Revolution. And abusing Sally Hemings (his, at the time, 14 year old slave, who was also his sister-in-law, and 30 years his junior, and was brought along to entertain his daughter). And actually probably chatting up with Angelica!

By the time Philip was 9, he had two sisters, Angelica (7) and his foster/adopted sister Frances Antill (6), but he also had two brothers already, Alexander Jr. (5) and James Alexander (3), with maybe another one on the way since William Stephen would be born next year.

The whole comma thing is backwards. It was Angelica who made the initial mistake. Hamilton pointedly and flirtatiously teased her about it before closing it with “Adieu ma chere, soeur” French for “Goodbye my dear, sister”. So it’s more playful and less lovey dovey in context, so the tone is all wrong. It’s not romantic, it’s teasing and snarky.

Say No To This feels like it’s over quick. The affair lasted a year, not just the summer Eliza was away.

Clermont Street wasn’t renamed until many years later.

I don’t know that Alex has always considered Burr a friend. Irl they weren’t as close, and Hamilton was keenly aware of how slimy Burr could be.

Lafayette was NOT fine. He was imprisoned a lot during the French Revolution, the poor man, and many members of his wife’s family were killed. HOWEVER! Hamilton was not just sitting by. Angelica and her husband did make an attempt to rescue Lafayette, and the Hamiltons fostered Lafayette’s son Georges Washington Lafayette (yes that was his actual name). So Hamilton also did not forget Lafayette.

Not all his defendants got acquitted, obviously. Stop being cocky, Ham.

People comment on how Jefferson whines about Hamilton’s fashion sense while literally dressed in violet velvet. The original plan was to have him in browns, but Daveed is just such a friggin star that they just had to give him something brighter and decided to go with a Prince-inspired look. Originally the browns were going to be representative of his supposed representation of farmers. Though note here: Jefferson’s agricultural representation is much the same as modern Republicans’ rural representation. More for show.

Actually, let's get political for a sec. I've done some research in my hyperfixation and in searches for Hamilton shiz I've ended up stumbling into far-right nonsense and I know how to recognize the degrees of nonsense from years of actually paying attention to it now because this is what I do apparently. Which is weird, right? Lin kinda portrays him like a lefty. Well, here's the thing. Any proud historically educated Republican will tell you that their roots are in the Federalist Party. Which is technically true. What they will neglect to mention is the flip between parties that happened when the Republicans decided to use southerners racism to their advantage in elections. Being subtly racist can get the racists and the non-racists on your side! Yeah, it's gross. Federalists are more like Democrats. The corporatists. They clearly care more about companies and Wall Street, but they put actual action into social progress on rare occasion. Democratic-Republicans are like Republicans, conservatives who don't want social change and rail against it and pretend they aren't for corporate interests while being just as bad as the other guys. But Republicans have a tendency to rewrite history to paint themselves as the good guys, or reclaim things that aren't theirs as their own. Just look at the Civil War! Or...literally just...America I guess. Yikes. But yeah, here's your warning. Don't just go looking at and trusting things labelled Federalist. It likely won't be friendly.

John Adams didn’t fire Hamilton, Hamilton left. Eventually. And this is not the only time this kind of verbal confrontation happens, and not the one that destroys the Federalist Party. That actually happens after the Reynolds Pamphlet. But John Adams hates Alexander Hamilton with the burning passion of a thousand suns and really kinda earns this.

I’m not sure if he specifically called Alex a Creole bastard but I wouldn’t be surprised, there were other similar racist and bastard-related insults. You know the tomcat thing mentioned above. He started the rumor of the affair with Angelica. He accused him of being a rake (male version of whore at the time). He also may have behind closed doors accused him of being a sodomite. His (probably gay) son Charles helped with that one, bringing back rumors from a dinner he had with Hamilton (who he was working for) and John Church because Church joked about Alex being fond of a guy. Adams probably thought working for Hamilton was what made his son gay and alcoholic (Charles was an alcoholic and may have died in part because of that; Hamilton was not an alcoholic, but he supposedly could not hold his drink. He was smol).

Jefferson, Madison, and Burr didn’t accuse Hamilton of speculation. It was James Monroe, Abraham Venable, and Frederick Muhlenberg. Lin wanted to keep consistent representation of the Democratic-Republican party. But anyway, the whole thing went to hell because Monroe sent the letters to Jefferson (or I’ve also heard Monroe gave them to Madison who sent them to Jefferson) who, the spiteful gangly fucker, started spreading rumors because fuck Hamilton, amirite? Hamilton challenged Monroe to a duel over that. And who stopped this duel? Aaron Burr. He gets to be the good guy now and then.

It wasn’t just total strangers that got Alex off the island. He was sponsored by his cousin Ann Lytton and his teacher Reverend Hugh Knox. Also, he was kind of expected to get an education and come back and help out the island...guess what he never did. Oops.

This one I may be wrong, but I’m pretty sure. I think Eliza was upstate with her family when the Reynolds Pamphlet was released, away from Alex. I also know she had recently given birth to their son, William Stephen. A lot of people think Alexander had been keeping that in mind. Eliza had had a miscarriage once before, when she was under a lot of stress and alone and with the kids and he had to be away (Whiskey Rebellion), so some people think he made sure she was surrounded by her family and waited until the child was born to drop this on her, and gave her distance from him if she needed it. At least he knew he fucked up, and he really did love her.

Those weren’t Alexander’s guns. They belonged to John Church.

It was quite some time between Philip’s challenge and the actual duel.

Another age miscommunication; Eacker was 27ish and Philip was 19 when the duel happened. There was a whole 8 years between them!

Eacker didn’t shoot early. Actually, both of them stood staring at each other for a really long time doing nothing. But Philip went to make a move and Eacker shot him.

Alex and Eliza had made up from the Reynolds Pamphlet bullshit before Philip died. When he passed, Eliza was already pregnant with the son they would also name Philip in honor of his older brother.

Hamilton wasn’t really the deciding factor in the election of 1800. But he did say that about Burr and it did help swing the vote somewhat. But also, this was before Philip died. Philip died in 1801.

If a vote is that close, you can’t win in a landslide??? That’s not how words work???? Mister Miranda????? You are a writer??????? Sir???????

Burr actually held a term as Jefferson’s Vice President.

The Burr vs Hamilton Duel was in 1804 and was actually about another election and other things Hamilton was saying about him. Burr was running to be governor of New York and lost but heard about Alexander telling people the things he listed Alexander saying in Your Obedient Servant.

Thayne should not have played Alexander’s doctor. Sydney should have played Alexander’s doctor. Do you know why? Philip and Alexander had the same doctor when they died. Alexander took that doctor with him to the duel. His name was David Hosack.

While there’s evidence to suggest Burr experienced immediate regret (he stepped forward as if wanting to see if Hamilton was okay and supposedly asked after him and wished him well before Alexander passed) in the years that followed, until he was on his death bed, he expressed nothing but neutrality or even pride for having shot Hamilton. The ‘the world was wide enough’ comment could plausibly be entirely made up, and even if it were true, it was supposedly said toward the end of Burr’s life. Burr's life was quite a ride after Alex. He tried to make like his own empire out of Texas, and then of course was tried for treason, but he got out of that, but then everyone hated him for that ON TOP OF already hating him for killing Hamilton, so he had some crazy journey around Europe for a while. He kept a journal, writing entries like letters to Theo. The most notable things I think he writes he'd "been amused for an hour with a very handsome young Dane. Don't smile. It is a male!" which implies maybe Theodosia knew her dad was bi and was at least amused by it? And he spent a while living with Jeremy Bentham, who is generally accepted to have been gay (if you want more Burr gayness look into Jonathan Bellamy and Robert Troup. Troup knew Hamilton too!). Unrelated to his sexuality but I find it important, Burr spent, in modern cash, $40 on a coconut, in his own words, "like an ass." He returned to America eventually. I dont remember if it was before or after his foreign adventures, but his beloved grandson (also named Aaron Burr) died, and then not long after, Theodosia was lost at sea on her way to visit her dad. No one knows what happened to her. It's so sad. Anyway he married a wealthy widow named Eliza, spent all her money on charity, and died the day their divorce was finalized. And Eliza Jumel's divorce lawyer was Alexander Hamilton Jr..

Poor Eliza couldn’t go through all of her husband’s papers. Her son, John Church Hamilton, finished the work for her when she no longer could and put together the biography that inspired Chernow’s that inspired Lin’s musical. (He named a son Alexander and a daughter Elizabeth. He even named one of his sons Laurens! Aw.) And we have come full circle.

The End :33

There’s probably more but that’s what I’ve got. Thanks for reading!

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fatiguing-thoughts · 4 years

Text

“There’s a catch” - Jacob Black x Reader

Request: “ If you are taking requests, could you write a Jacob\reader on where they "hate" eachother and the reader is very good friends with Paul (always around the pack) and Paul being like "Sure. You know you like him, right?" and teasing them in general.”

“My god, Jacob… you’re so annoying!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Yeah, you’re not so great yourself, princess.” He scoffs.

“Alright, easy there, killer.” Paul laughs, picking me up and moving me.

Jacob, as always was pissing me off. He just always had to butt in and say something to piss me off.

I was in the middle about complaining about my car breaking down earlier today, having to walk in the rain to Paul’s house.

I was rambling about how the engine overheated, causing me to have to pull over and try to figure it out, but to no avail. I was unable to get the car to start again.

“Maybe you should have had that coolant in your trunk like I told you.”

“Maybe you should have listened to me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so forgetful.”

“Maybe if you actually listened to me.”

“Maybe if you would actually take care of your car.’

Statements like all of the above immediately came out of Jacob’s big mouth. Him insulting me and my competence for when it came to taking care of my car.

“Jacob, it’s a crappy old car! I used the rest of the coolant the other day in it, there’s a leak somewhere! Embry said he’d help me fix it, but he had to patrol. So he can’t fix it until Saturday.” I huff, rolling my eyes at the jerk in front of me.

“Jake, maybe you could look at it.” Paul suggests, nudging his friend.

“Yeah, no thanks.” Jacob chuckles.

“Alright, Paul you’re stuck with driving me to work the rest of the week.”

“Please, at least teach me what to do. I can’t drive her to and from work, I can’t wake up that early.” Paul laughs.

“Eh.” Jacob smirks.

“My god, Jacob… you’re so annoying!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Yeah, you’re not so great yourself, princess.” He scoffs.

“Alright, easy there, killer.” Paul laughs, picking me up and moving me away.

I find myself plopped down on Paul’s couch as Paul walked outside with Jacob.

Jacob and I weren’t always so hostile towards one another. In fact, I used to have the biggest crush on him, but then he turned into a shifter and grew to be such a pissy guy.

Paul and I were always best friends, and he often brought Jake around. I thought he was a cute guy. He was nice, he was sunshine. However, that all shriveled up and died when he phased for the first time, and now we always bumped heads.

Now almost every time we hang out, he goes out of his way to piss me off. I just want to punch his pretty face in. I did, I really do. His laugh just made it difficult to get pissed off, sometimes.

But overall, I was ready to take Jake in a fight at any moment, he was always trying to get under my skin.

Just like the other day when he invited everyone out, except for me of course, to go to the beach to hang out. I was sitting right at the same table, watching as the smirk plastered itself across his smug face knowing I was pissed off. Paul insisted I came anyway, so I did. I hung out with Paul and Jared, making fun of Jacob the entire time. It felt good to get under that thick skin of his.

I heard them getting a bit louder out there, shrugging my shoulders.

“Good, I hope Paul sinks some teeth into him.” I scoff to myself, smirking at the thought as I sat on the couch.

Though at the same time, the thought of Paul doing anything to Jake also worried me. I’ve always felt a pull to Jake, even since he became such an asshole to me.

A moment later, Paul walks in the door with a smile on his face, Jacob trailing behind with his hand on his nose. It made me think about all the times Paul teased me about how he thought, or knew, that I had a crush on Jacob.

“Is it because you like him?”

“Oh so you know you like him, right?”

“I can’t you won’t just shoot your shot.”

“We settled it, so Jacob’s going to fix your car while I’m on patrol tonight. We’ll go pick yours up right now, sound good?” Paul asks, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Yeah, that works for me.” I smirk, standing up.

“Yeah, but you have to help him fix it.” Paul says, a devilish grin pulling at his lips.

I look over to see Jacob, his eyes rolling.

“Of course there’s a catch.” I bite my lip.

Paul only smirks, grabbing his keys off the counter and making his way outside to his truck, Jacob and I following behind him.

I took shotgun, directing Paul to where my car was left.

“Great, so you’ll be steering and Jake’s gonna push it. Good luck!” Paul yells through the open window as Jake and I exit the car, laughing his ass off.

“Great.” Jacob scoffs, kicking the dirt on the side of the road.

“Thanks.” I press my lips, bending my head down.

I get into the car, waiting for Jake to get ready to push. Once I get the all clear, we were on our way to Jacob’s garage. Due to his inhuman strength, we made it there quicker than I thought.

I get out of the car after it’s parked in his garage, quickly noticing Jacob’s shirt clinging to his abdomen. I immediately tear my eyes away from him and back to the car. My shoulders were shivering from the cold. The smell of oil and tools invading my senses.

“I’m gonna change quick, but I’ll be back.” He says, running his hands through his soaking wet hair.

I turn back to my car, popping the hood open to get a jumpstart to things. I turn the remainder of the lights on in the garage, knowing that we would need more light. I sat down on an empty crate, holding myself to keep warm.

Jacob soon returns, a different t-shirt and pair of jeans on, a hoodie in hand.

“Here, I can’t listen to all that teeth chattering all night.” He walks over, laying the maroon fabric on my lap.

“Oh, thanks.” I raise an eyebrow, immediately grabbing the hoodie into my shaking hands.

I stand up, throwing the hoodie over my body. I watched as it fell well-past my hips and the sleeves slinging inches lower than the end of my hands. Shrugging, I make my way over to the front end of my car, joining Jacob as he watches me.

I thought I almost saw a glimor in his eyes, but I knew that wasn’t true.

“I have a tube that’ll be the same size as yours over on that shelf over there. Top shelf, blue bin.” He points over to the left.

I nod, walking over to the shelf. I look up and see the bin he’s referring to, shocked that he thought I could reach it. I decide it was better to just try to reach it. I stand on my tippy toes, gripping onto the shelf with one hand, and reaching the other up as high as I can. I felt my body stretch, growing tired quickly as I tried to reach.

I heard chuckling come from behind me, I go to turn around to give him a stink face, but when I do I’m met with his chest in front of my face. He simply reaches a hand over me, easily grabbing the bin and bringing it down, a smirk on his face as he looks down at my own, a blush creeping its way to my cheeks.

“Forgot you were two feet tall.” His husky voice whispers with a smirk on his face.

I quickly exhaled, suddenly flustered with the close proximity of our bodies.

He turns around, walking over to my car, beginning to take things apart.

“So what can I do?” I ask.

“Nothing, you already failed task one. Can’t have you mess anything else up.”

“Oh shut up, that was an impossible task. Sorry I’m not almost seven feet tall.” I roll my eyes, sitting on the work bench next to where he was working.

“Alright fine, hand me the paper towels.” He laughs.

The air was less tense between us than it had been in months, since the day he phased.

I hand them over, he graciously takes them as he begins to clean the oil off the engine and wiping his hands off when he finishes that.

The garage was silent for a few moments as he did so, I had to try to tear my eyes from his arms as he was working on the car.

“Jacob?”

“What’s up?” He groans, pulling something out of the car and observing it.

“Why do you hate me? We were friends.” I look over, twiddling my thumbs.

“I don’t hate you, (Y/N). It’s a bit more complicated than that.” He huffs, looking over at me with sympathetic eyes.

“So why are you such an asshole to me?”

“I don’t know, I’m stupid, I guess. Or at least that’s what everyone else says.”

“I mean, agreed. But what is this all for then, Jake?” I ask, realizing that was the first time I actually called him Jake in a while.

“I just, I didn’t know how to handle this all. I phased, which we both know I was pissed about. And then suddenly, I had no say in my life anymore.” He puts the tool down, standing in front of me.

“I understand, Jake. I’m really sorry… I just don’t understand why you’ve been upset with me, though.” I look into his eyes, furrowing my brows.

“I just… it’s a lot. I was never ready to tell you about it, but I guess now’s a better time than any.”

“What?”

“Listen, I… I always had a crush on you, alright? And then I phased… and something else happened. And it just felt like everything I had a say in was taken from me. My body, my time, and then my feelings. I just, I wasn’t ready to accept it, yet. I’m sorry I’ve been being a dick to you, okay?” His deep brown eyes meet mine, searching to see what was going on in my mind.

“Jake… I thought you hated me. I had no idea that you… ya know. I always had a thing for you, too. It hurt a lot when you were so cold to me.” I frown.

“Well, it’s time I maybe start making up for it.” He smirks.

I smile as I realize what was going to happen. His warm, large hand found the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. It was quick, warm, and sweet. It was like electricity flowed throughout my entire body. Pulling away felt like an extreme absence of warmth on my lips.

I rested my forehead on his, closing my eyes. My hand lightly gripped the hair on the nape of his neck.

“And then, I’ll fix your car.” He lowly chuckles, removing his hand from the back of my neck, lowering it to my hand.

“Thanks.” I exhale, still in shock.

We made our way back over to fixing the car, not really talking about what just happened, though the tingling never left my lips and the atmosphere surrounding us was heavy.

He ended up finishing my car and handing the keys back to me.

“Here’s some more coolant, but I think you’ll be fine. I fixed the leak.” He smirks, walking over to put the coolant in my trunk.

“Uh, thanks.” I smile.

“Of course.” He looks at me, smiling awkwardly.

“Thanks again for fixing my car. And before I forget, here’s your hoodie.” I reach down to the bottom of the hoodie, attempting to peel it from my body but a warm hand stops mine.

“No, keep it. I think it looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks.

A ferocious blush invades my facial features, making him laugh a little.

I feel soft, warm lips press onto my forehead, a warm hand once again on the back of my neck.

“We can talk more about it all tomorrow. It’s been a long day.” He whispers.

“Sounds like a plan.” I nod, walking to my car door and getting inside.

“Goodnight, (Y/N). Let me know when you get home.” He smiles, watching me back out of his garage.

__________________________ Word Count: 2107

#jacob black #jacob black x reader #jacob black imagine #paul lahote #embry call #quil ateara #jared cameron #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #sam uley #twilight #twilight x reader

323 notes · View notes

walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 33 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Beta makes his final move against the survivors as the group prepares for the final showdown against the Whisperers and our story comes to an end.

Word Count: 4971

Warning: Swearing, Violence, Blood

Song I Wrote To: “Sanctuary” by Welshly Arms

Note: THANK YOU. That is all I can really say. I have never written something this long and I am forever grateful for the handful of you that have stuck with it for all these months. Happy TWD 10c premiere and I can’t wait to write even more for you though I may need a break for a bit! I hope you also listen to the song for this chapter, I think it fully encapsulates the relationship between Negan and the reader! ALL OFFICIAL DIALOG IS PROPERTY OF AMC

————-

They say that Death rode on a pale horse as Hell followed behind, but they had never considered that Hell was with them all along and that they were only waiting for someone to swing the sword.

Your sword hung on your hip as the rumbling sound of the Dead crashed over you in waves. From the tower window, it looked as if the ground was alive with insects rather than crumbling bones and rotting flesh.

As soon as Gabriel sounded the alarm, you and Negan went off to help where you still could. Michonne was frantically searching for Judith who had run out after her uncle in hopes of helping. She only began to relax after Daryl had gotten through to her to tell her that they were on their way back to the tower.

They also had Kelly and Carol with them.

Gabriel was running around with blankets, extra weapons, and ever extra bottles of water for those he would be moving out of the tower as the herd got closer. You were starting to feel a bit out of sorts. You had been waiting for this moment since Beta had singled you out in the clearing during the fair and yet, you didn’t know if you were ready to face him for the last time, but you had to be.

At this point, it was either him or you.

The Walkers were a big problem, but then there were the Whisperers that moved within the herd. There was no way to properly single them out without wasting long-distance ammo. These were the days that you missed the armory back in Alexandria.

The only guns in the group were Gabriel’s shotgun and Rick’s colt python in which Judith carried. It wasn’t enough and you knew that. The only hope that any of you had was that Michonne and Gabriel’s plan of diverting the horde would stand up.

When Daryl and the others returned, Gabriel explained what he wanted to do.

“Is that even going to work?” you asked as you stood in the hallway.

“It’s the only thing we’ve got,” Gabriel said. “If we can get the stereos working and lead the horde away, it may be the only thing capable of drawing away this large of herd.”

“What about the Whisperers in the herd?” Kelly asked. “Isn’t their whole thing herding the Dead towards a certain area?”

“Negan said that it’s more complicated than that,” you said. “It’s not an exact science. If they try to force the Walkers, they start to become more aware of the Living among them. It never ends well.”

“Meaning what?” Carol asked.

“Meaning I don’t like our odds,” Michonne said.

“Neither do I,” you agreed.

“It’s either this or we wait to be slaughtered,” Gabriel said. “And considering we got kids in here, I don’t like that idea at all.��

“Of course not,” Michonne said. “Okay, so we get to the wagons on the outskirts and we get them hooked up, then what? Where do we take them?”

“We can figure that out once we get them away from the tower,” you said. “Beta isn’t going to stop until we are all dead. He can’t take on all of us at once so he’s using his Walkers. This may be the only opportunity that we have to get to him.”

“Beta is not the only enemy out there,” Carol said.

“That’s rich coming from you,” you shot back and Daryl got between the two of you.

“Easy,” he warned. “We are not going to get anything done by fighting among ourselves. Gabriel is right, we have to get to the wagons.”

“We have to get through that horde before we do anything,” you said.

“We’ve done it before,” Daryl said and you quickly realized what he meant as did the others. Michonne made a face of disgust along with your own.

“Well, this isn’t going to be pleasant at all,” you said.

“Never is,” Michonne added, “but we gotta do it.” Frowning down at Paul’s coat, you sighed.

“Fine, someone find us some Walkers,” you said, “and make them extra bloody.”

--------

“Have I told you yet that I hate this plan,” Negan said as you finished strapping your knives to your thighs and storing more in your coat.

“Many times,” you said with a sigh.

“And yet, you’re going through with it,” he said.

“Like Gabe said, we don’t have many other options,” you said, turning to him. “Unless you know if any RPG’s just happen to be in this very building with useable ammunition.”

“Afraid not,” Negan said with a frown.

“Then it looks like we are shit out of luck, honey,” you said as you double-checked your weapon on your hip. “I know you’re worried about me, but I have to do this and so do you.”

“Nah,” Negan said, disagreeing. “I’m not exactly an invisible force when it comes to these assholes. I’ll stick out too much, you’re going to have to do this part without me.”

You knew he was right. There was no doubt that Beta had found Alpha’s head and knew that Negan was the last one to be with her. While Beta still wanted to kill you, right now, Negan was number one on his kill list. You were just hoping that he would be too distracted with his own vengeance to recognize yours. If you could keep hold of even an ounce of surprise, then this would be a whole lot easier.

“I get it,” you said. “I don’t like it, but I do understand.”

“Thanks,” he said. You then pulled him in for a harsh kiss, putting all your passion into it. If this was the last time you held him like that, then you were going to make it count. Pulling back, you stared into his eyes, eager to see that fire. When you did, you gave him a half-smile.

“Now or never, big man,” you said. “Are you with me?”

“Damn right,” he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He then pushed you back towards the main hallway where you were supposed to meet Daryl in order to don your Walker disguise. As you walked away, he felt as if you were taking a part of him with you and he prayed that part would be enough to keep you safe.

----------

“Our plan is the same,” Gabriel said as Negan listened at the side. “Lead the horde away, just not from Oceanside as we had planned. Once the Walkers are clear, we evacuate to Rendezvous Point B. Luke, We ready?” Gabriel asked Luke who was standing next to Jules.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, technically,” Luke said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Okay. So, these are the final pieces that we need to connect to the wagon. But in order for it to do the pied piper thing that we need it to do over the cliff, we gotta get from A to B, and I gotta plug and plug,” he said.

“And then we should be good to go?” Kelly asked.

“Hopefully,” Luke said.

“That wagon is on the other side of the horde,” Beatrice said.

“Which is why we have these,” Daryl grunted as he and Jerry dragged in two extra-large Walkers into the foyer of the tower.

“Oh man, this is just wrong,” Luke said.

“But it works,” Gabriel said. “Trust me, I know.” Negan smirked at that, remembering that time he and Gabriel had done the guts trick to get back into the Sanctuary. That time felt like another lifetime ago now that he was thinking about it.

Negan stepped away from the group temporarily, heading to one of the vacant watchpoints. His eyes scanned the horde for Beta, but he couldn’t see the man amongst his Dead. If Beta was out there, he was staying out of sight for a reason. Negan never pegged the man as one who would lead the army. He was more of a free agent when it came to taking orders from his Alpha. However, now with Alpha gone, it seemed as if the Beta had finally taken command of the pack.

It wasn’t very reassuring.

Negan had seen some large hordes since this had all started. He had even told you about a particular one that scared the hell out of him. Negan didn’t think a tow truck would be able to get through this one even if it had a flame thrower attached to it. Michonne was right, he didn’t like their odds either.

Taking one last look, Negan turned away and headed back into the fold.

As he neared the main area of the fighters who were waiting to go out, he noticed you, soaked in Walker blood, trying not to gag. If it was any other scenario, he would think it was adorable.

It was a moment later that Daryl noticed Negan.

“Hey,” Daryl called, approaching Negan, “why you clean?”

“I ain't goin’,” Negan declared.

“You've done this more than any of us,” Daryl said. “How the hell is this any different?”

“I am on the tip-top of every skins' kill list. Especially Fee Fi Fo asshole. So, if the idea is to get through without drawing a shitload of attention, then I am the last person these people want standing next to them,” Negan said, not liking the idea of more of these people dying because of him.

“That's a bunch of bullshit,” Daryl said, shaking his head. “You wanna be a part of this? You gotta put your ass on the line just like everybody else and (Y/N) needs you by their side.”

“They understand,” Negan said.

“Do they?” Daryl scoffed.

“Yeah, I do,” you said as you approached. “I thought we could do this together, but we can’t. At least, not this part.” Negan nodded, agreeing with you.

“We’re just leading the horde away,” Daryl said.

“You are,” you said. “I’m not.”

Daryl understood your words immediately. Negan, who had already guessed your plan, was silent as he stood by your side. Daryl was shaking his head as he looked at you. You were one of his closest friends and he was just realizing how serious you were when it came to getting to Beta. He had been so focused on Carol’s vendetta against Alpha, that he had missed the signs of your own fury.

“No,” he said, “not like this.”

“I’ve already made my decision, Daryl,” you said. “You’re not going to change my mind. Look, Gabriel is staying behind to protect the kids and I need you to disperse the herd.”

“Are you hearin’ this?” Daryl asked Michonne who was nearby.

“I am,” she said with a nod, “ and I am trusting that they know what they’re doing.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” Daryl said as he stormed away.

“Great, so if I die, he’ll be dancing on my grave,” you said as you watched him walk away.

“Daryl will be fine,” Michonne assured you. “Besides, Daryl doesn’t dance,” she said with a wink and a nod before going to follow him in preparation to leave.

-----------

You lost sight of Negan shortly after the group headed out of the tower.

While you were still covered in the Walker guts, you weren’t leaving just yet. You had a plan and you needed to stick with it. Standing across from Dianne, you watched as your family began to move through the Dead. You could make out a few of them, but not everyone. Also with the sun beginning to set, you knew that it was only a matter of time before you lost all visibility.

Everything that had happened since that first wind storm, was suddenly echoing around in your head. You had lost people shortly after that night and it just kept crashing down like that tree that collapsed the wall behind your house. You weren’t even sure if your house was still standing at this point. Aaron and Alden had radioed to say that the horde had moved through Alexandria, trampling it. They were supposed to keep on them, but then their line had gone silent and nobody was hearing from them.

It was making you nervous, not knowing where your friends were. You knew that Enid was worried, but she was staying busy, looking after the kids with Siddiq who was constantly hovering over Rosita and Coco. Considering they were the only doctors in the group, they would not be going out into the horde until it was clear. They would head straight for the meeting point and even then it was a risk to have them out there. However, you knew that they were strong fighters and that they would do everything to survive. They had proved that the night Alpha had taken them.

The Fair seemed so long ago. That moment of you walking up the hill to see your friends and family on pikes still haunted you, but you used those feelings of horror and despair to keep your vision alive. The vision you had of your future with both Negan and Lydia by your side.

You had always fought for family and you were not going to let Beta take that away from you.

A sudden scream broke you out of your thoughts as Beatrice went down in the horde. Dianne was stunned next to you as you watched the woman being torn apart by Beta’s guardians. You knew that Carol had been with her, but you couldn’t tell if she was down as well. You couldn’t look away as blood and flesh were covering the Walkers as they feasted on your friend.

Holding your head higher, you moved away from the window and headed towards the elevator shaft. Catching Negan’s eye who stood near Lydia, you nodded to him. He nodded back and with one final look, you grabbed the rope and began to propel down, adjusting your focus not on your family above, but the enemy below.

-------

“They're coming up,” Judith said, who was staring at the stairwell in horror. Gabriel pushed her back, holding her tightly.

“You all know what to do,” Gabriel said. “Dianne, you get the first group. Children and wounded come second. If Rosita argues, just come and find me.”

The evacuation went smoothly as Dianne got everyone out, even Rosita and her baby. It was going well, but Negan knew it wasn’t nearly done. There was more work to be done.

Not too far away from Gabriel, Negan spoke to Lydia. “You know how this ends,” he said with a sigh.

“I don't and neither do you,” Lydia argued, looking up at him with those big brown eyes of hers.

“Come on, kid,” Negan said. “You being here when the shitstorm hits ain't changing what definitely is happening.”

“I'm not leaving,” she said defiantly.

“They're never gonna trust me, you,” Negan said, knowing well enough that no matter who he wanted to spend his life with, he would never be more than what these people remember from eight years ago. “Doesn't matter what we do now. You can just slip out, down, and dance your way through the Dead.”

“So can you,” Lydia pointed out, gesturing to the Whisperer mask he still had in his jacket.

“Like you said, I ain't no hero,” Negan said.

“You could be,” Lydia prompted.

“Well,” Negan said, pulling her into his side. “I guess that's what I'm doing now. You be careful, kiddo, and you know what?” Negan then pulled out another mask from his coat, one that Lydia instantly recognized as her mother’s. “You take this and you use it for good, you know, if that’s something you feel like doin’, alright?”

Lydia took the mask in her hands and clutched it in a fist.

“Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please, Negan, I can’t lose any more family.”

“I ain’t plannin’ on it,” he said as he kissed the top of her head and then turned his back on the room. Lydia watched as Negan took hold of the rope that led into the elevator shaft. Not looking back, he began to descend. He didn’t stop until his boots found solid ground again.

Shoving the mask onto his face, Negan pushed out into the world, ready to face anything that it threw at him. Even if it was for the last time.

He was on the outskirts of the horde when he exited the building, but he didn’t see any Whisperers and he didn’t see you. He didn’t think you would be waiting out in the open so he figured you had disappeared into the trees or even the horde itself.

Pulling the bat off his shoulder, Negan looked down at what you had coined “Lucille 2.0”. His hand wrapped around the end of the bat, feeling the familiar grip. With a deep breath, he held it close to his face one last time. “Thanks, old girl,” he whispered before tossing the bat into the horde of Walkers. He watched as it disappeared amongst the Dead and felt another weight disappear from his shoulders.

Drawing his knife, Negan began to move through the herd in hopes of finding you and the man you were going to take down. He just hoped that Daryl’s plan started to work and that the building behind him didn’t succumb to the wave of Walkers among him.

-----------

Something was wrong, that much you knew.

You didn’t know what it was, but the horde had stopped moving in the direction of the cliffside. You could hear the crashing of metal and cracking of stone behind you as the horde moved into the building.

The only good thing was that only the Whisperers could move up into the building and you were just hoping Gabriel had enough fighters to keep them back. However, he was also trying to evacuate people so it could easily go bad very quickly.

Fresh blood was splattered on nearby Walkers and you were praying that it was Whisperer blood and not the blood of your family. You wanted to stop and search for any bodies, but so far, you had gone undetected in the herd and you needed to keep it that way.

Shouts of alarm came from the building, but you couldn’t turn back and so, you kept Walking.

It was well into the evening when everything seemed to slow down. You had been moving through the horde slowly, taking out any Whisperer that recognized you. It was easy to do, a few quick slashes and the blood would attract the Dead. However, as you killed more of them, they began to realize the enemy had infiltrated their own army.

It was a few minutes later that you saw a familiar face in the crowd. Magna moved behind a slow-moving form and then slit their throat. The Whisperer fell to the ground as Walkers fell upon them, and then, Magna was gone.

You heard more sounds of choking as more Whisperers fell to the phantom movements of your friends and family. You could never pinpoint where they were in the crowd, but soon, you began to join in the stealth mission. Using your smaller blades, you cut down Whisperers, silencing them once and for all.

When one went to stab you first, Kelly was there in a second, slitting their throat, and throwing them down to the ground. You nodded to her as you passed by and she reached out and grabbed your hand quickly before continuing on.

Everything was going as planned, but you couldn’t find Lydia. You didn’t know if she had joined up with Daryl or had stayed behind with Gabriel. You hoped that Negan had eyes on her, but you didn’t know where he was either.

As the sun finally set and darkness fell, the horde began to thin and the enemy was finally exposed.

Negan saw him first.

Beta stood amongst the dwindling Dead acting as if he was the king of them all. A moment on the left, caught both men’s attention as Alpha’s mask moved through the crowd.

Negan shook his head at the move Lydia had made. If he wasn’t sure that she wasn't, he would have thought she really was his kid considering how daring she was with taunting Beta like this.

Beta stared at her in awe until she disappeared again from view. It was enough of a distraction for Negan to move in.

He knew you had to be close so with a smirk, he let loose his memorable melodic whistle, something he hadn’t done in a while.

He just hoped that you would get the meaning. He was essentially sending up a flare in the form of a few notes. “Come get him,” Negan whispered as he approached Beta. “Hey, shithead,” he spoke louder, gaining the attention of Beta.

The larger man instantly locked onto Negan’s position with ferocity. Recognizing him, Beta charged right for him. Negan braced himself for impact when Beta threw a Walker at him. “Shit!” Negan said as the Dead man fell upon him, its jaws fighting their way towards his throat. Pulling his knife, Negan finished off the Walker, kicking it away, but Beta wasn’t done.

He threw himself toward Negan as the latter tried to get to his feet. Beta aimed his fist at Negan’s head, catching him in the temple and Negan went down hard. Blinking back the black spots in his vision, he focused back on the enemy above him.

“For Alpha,” Beta growled. Negan stared him down as Beta raised his knives above his head, ready to strike true, but a sound from his left made him turn. He snarled as you came running from the horde with your sword in your hand. Beta didn’t have any time to move as you rushed past him, your blade slashing out to the side and cutting both of the man’s Achilles tendons.

Beta yelled out in pain as blood pooled from his ankles. Negan pushed him off of him as you circled back. Kicking his knives from his hands, you reached down and shoved your blade into Beta’s shoulder. The same shoulder you had injured in your fight with him in Alexandria. Beta bared his teeth at you and that’s when you noticed the new mask on his face.

It was half of Alpha’s own face.

He seemed to be sneering at you as you reached forward and placed your hand on his throat, forcing him to look at you. “I’ll kill you,” he spat.

“You make veiled threats,” you said, quoting what he had first said to you in the clearing as your friends were being slaughtered by his Alpha. “I told you that I wasn’t going to die like this. Not by you or anyone.” Beta yelled, trying to get up and attack you when suddenly Daryl appeared out of the darkness.

Pulling his blades, Daryl brought them down into Beta’s back, keeping him in place. The shock of pain sent Beta back to the ground. Blood bubbled at his lips and you leaned in closer, making sure your face was the last one that he saw. “Killer,” Beta spat at you as Daryl pulled his blades from Beta’s body.

“No,” you said as you pulled back and then in one fluid motion, buried your sword up into his chest. “Survivor,” you corrected as you withdrew your weapon and kicked him to the ground and towards his own Walkers who smelled the fresh blood immediately.

Negan and Daryl instantly, stepped in front of you as you watched the Dead tear apart Beta. The sound of tearing flesh and the growls of the Walkers had never sounded so liberating before. Negan slowly took hold of his mask and tore it from his face, letting it drop to the ground beside him. Daryl, who had been the first one to fight Beta, let out a breath that spoke louder than words.

They had won.

“Now is it over?” you asked, leaning on your sword,

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “It’s over. Come on,” he said as he passed Negan, knocking his fist against the taller man’s shoulder. Negan then reached down and took your hand in his and without looking back, walked away from the bloodbath that had ended the war.

---------

The sun was rising by the time, you managed to find the group again.

You, Daryl, and Negan found Carol first. The woman looked as if she had been through hell, but she lit up as soon as she saw her best friend. Daryl grabbed her first, hugging her close. It immediately reminded you of when they had reunited after Terminus.

Looking around, you couldn’t find the person you had been worried about since you had dropped down the elevator shaft. “Lydia,” you said, “where is she?” Carol looked up from her moment with Daryl and approached you.

“Rendezvous point,” Carol said. “She went looking for you. Both of you,” she said, sending a look to Negan. You didn’t hesitate to start running through the trees. Negan was right behind you as you jumped over old roots and fallen branches. Your only thoughts were on Lydia and if she was okay. Seeing the break in the trees ahead of you, you slid to a stop, your eyes scanning the area.

Negan arrived right behind you, but then, he froze. He felt as if the world was suddenly pulled out from under his feet. Everything around him felt on fire as he beheld who was kneeling in front of Judith, speaking softly to her.

Maggie Rhee.

You noticed his hesitation immediately. “What’s wrong? Do you not see her?” you asked, still looking around for Lydia.

“(Y/N)…” Negan said slowly.

“What?” you asked and then he was nodding over to where he was looking. Turning, your eyes found Maggie who had finally noticed Negan. The woman was staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Negan swallowed thickly as Maggie stared him down.

There weren’t many people in the world that scared him as much as Maggie Rhee did and he was not looking forward to the words she would definitely be throwing at him. “Ignore her,” you said.

“(Y/N),” he said again. You grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him back to face you. He did, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Just for right now,” you said. “We need to find‒”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out and you could have sunk to the ground at the amount of relief that flooded your system.

“Oh, thank god,” you said as you turned to see Lydia running towards you. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Lydia ran right to you, throwing her arms around you and Negan. You didn’t hesitate to follow suit, wrapping your arms around both of them.

Your family.

Negan squeezed both of you tight in his arms, finally letting his heart settle from all the adrenaline that was pulsing through him. “Is he dead?” Lydia asked as she was pressed between you two.

“He’s dead,” you whispered. “I promise, we got him.” Lydia pressed herself tighter to you before she stepped back with a relieved expression on her face. You then grabbed her and checked her for injuries. Lydia was doing the same as she checked over you and Negan. When Lydia noticed the blossoming head wound on Negan’s forehead, she became worried.

“I’m fine, kiddo,” he assured her. “I’ll take a bruise over a body bag any day.” Lydia then looked from him to you and then back at him.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked, looking at him with hope in her eyes.

“Nothing is going to make me leave you,” he said. “Either of you.” Lydia let out a breath as she moved in to hug him again, coiling her arms around his waist. He held her back and sent a wink to you over her shoulder. You moved and picked up his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, not caring who was watching.

You would deal with her later.

“So, now what?” Lydia asked.

“Now, we start fresh,” you said, taking her hand in yours, Lydia leaned into Negan, her head resting on his chest. “And who knows, maybe we discover a little more about each other along the way.”

“I like the sound of that,” Negan said as he tugged you into his side.

“Me too,” Lydia sighed.

“Good cause I am not giving up on either of you,” you said, trying not to get emotional, but it was futile. Letting a tear fall, you smiled at them. “You’re my family,” you choked out.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Negan said as he leaned down and pulled you in for a kiss. You kissed him back quickly, knowing there was a future ahead of you filled with more. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you said. “Until the end of our little universe.” Negan grinned at that as he pulled you and Lydia in closer, holding onto his found family.

There was a lot more to come and you knew that. With Maggie’s reappearance, it was not going to be easy and there were always going to be more enemies and wars to fight. However, because you had the man you loved and a kid who was a hell of a fighter, you knew you were going to be okay no matter what the new world threw at you.

After years of feeling like an outsider, you finally felt whole and it was all because you took a chance and spoke to the big bad wolf.

THE END.

TAGS: @not-too-tall-for-trick @lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541 @pulplorrd @felicisimor

#the walking dead #walkerwords #twd #twd imagines #the walking dead imagines #negan imagine #reader insert #savior sessions #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #negan x you #negan x reader #negan x gn reader #negan x y/n

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thetriggeredhappy · 4 years

Note

I love your idea of scout bein born early. Would it be too much trouble for you to write abt him bein in the hospital? And maybe possibly spy findin out?

this feels like a slightly different angle than the prompt, anon, but in my defense that’s what always happens

(warnings for alcohol mention, non-graphic injury and briefly being in a hospital)

The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and Scout used all three of those rings to try and get his story straight in his head. Then it was picked up and a familiar and very pleasant voice said “Hey, this is Pauling,” and he wasted exactly zero seconds to start talking.

“Alright so I kinda need some help, Miss P,” he opened with, because frankly those were some cards he knew were gonna end up on the table no matter how he played this.

“What did you do?” she asked immediately, and fuck, she was on to him.

“I—listen, I didn’t even do anything.”

“What did you do?” she asked again.

“...So, okay, promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’m already mad, Scout. What did you do?”

Scout worked hard for about three seconds to figure out a good way to phrase the next few sentences. “...So I was just at this bar, right, and I was minding my own goddamn business—“

“Scout.”

“I was!” he said, a little defensive. “Seriously! And this guy sees me across the bar, and, y’know, figures out I’m one of those guys from the newspaper who keeps causing trouble—“

“Were you in uniform?” she asked dryly.

“Nah, but, uh, Soldier and Cyclops were there, and some of the other guys were there earlier, and Soldier had his stupid helmet on, so, y’know. Bunch of foreigners and some G.I. Joe lookin’ guy, wouldn’t be hard to piece it together. And most of the guys left, and Soldier and Demo walk off, and I’m left alone just finishing my drink before I head out, like ya do.”

“Like you do,” Miss Pauling hesitantly agreed.

“And this guy goes, hey, three dudes is a lot, but I could take this one guy. And he comes up to me, right, all like ‘Hey what’s up I’m a drunk dude who wants to get in a fight like an asshole’ and I’m like ‘Hey nah I’m good actually’ because like, I’m busy and that’s stupid, right?”

“Right,” Miss Pauling agreed. “Really stupid.”

“Right! So I’m like, ‘Hey, fuck off pal’ and he just takes a fuckin’ swing at me, and I’m like ‘Hey actually fuck this I already paid I’m just gonna get outta here’ and I try to leave, but the dude just like—just grabs me by the arm and breaks my fuckin’ wrist, and I knock my whole glass over because holy shit, and a whole fuckin’ brawl kicks off, right—?”

“So long story short you need me to pick you up from jail again,” Miss Pauling cut in, voice laced with heavy exasperation.

“Nah, bartender saw everything and I didn’t get in any trouble. I, uh. I need you to pick me up from the hospital, actually,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as a nurse wheeled a cart by.

“Scout.”

“Look, I would’a just headed back to base, but it was like two in the morning and Medic was probably asleep and the bartender guy was bein’ all nice about it and how am I supposed to tell him I’ve got this crazy German guy who fixes all my bones and shit and don’t gotta go to a real hospital?” he asked, a little defensive. “Then they wouldn’t let me leave unless someone drove me because I’ve got a cast on and can’t drive, and I figured I shouldn’t wake you up or whatever at like four in the morning, so, I ended up taking a nap on a bench, and now it’s like ten so I figured you wouldn’t be mad.”

“Well, I can’t drive you back to base—“

“Aww, what?” he whined.

“—because I’m currently in Japan on business.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted.

“But I’ll send someone to pick you up,” she said. “Be ready to go in two hours.”

“Sure thing. Who are you sending?” Scout asked.

“I’ll send Spy,” she replied, and kept talking before Scout could start to complain. “Look, maybe now you’ll learn not to get in bar fights.”

“Miss P, c’mon!” he whined.

“I’m sending him. Two hours,” Miss Pauling said, and hung up on him, at which point he sighed so hard he got looks from two nurses down the hall.

Spy pulled up in his nice shiny car an hour and forty-five minutes later, and gave him a look that immediately made him feel guilty even though it totally wasn’t his fault that he was in this situation. He shifted on his feet for a second before heading over to the car. Silence.

“Wanna sign my cast?” Scout joked.

“Just get in the car.”

He did, deciding that maybe further hilarious commentary wasn’t going to help him out this time. Silence for a second.

He reached for the radio. Spy smacked his hand away. “Put on your seatbelt,” Spy said flatly, and Scout did, although it was a bit of a struggle one-handed, and they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

About thirty seconds of quiet again before Spy broke it. “So you’re a hired mercenary, but one drunk man in a bar can break your arm?” Spy asked.

“Go to hell, Spy,” Scout mumbled.

“I just find it interesting is all,” Spy said, tone light. “That we apparently need to babysit you or else you’ll end up in the morning paper.”

“What?”

Spy reached down between his door and the seat and pulled forth a newspaper, which he promptly tossed into Scout’s lap. “Third page.”

Scout flipped the newspaper open and found that there was indeed an article there. A brawl at the bar, minor property damage, five people arrested and several more fined, two sent to the hospital. He wasn’t mentioned by name, but he did see himself in the background of the picture beside the title.

“You’d think you would have the awareness not to get caught in a... brawl, I believe they called it?” Spy asked.

“Hey, I keep my head on a swivel,” Scout defended, closing the newspaper and tossing it into the backseat. “Everything was fine until Cyclops and Helmet-Head ditched me.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Spy hummed.

Scout frowned. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I’m just certain that you’re giving the full unbiased truth, even though I theoretically have no way of verifying anything you say to me about what happened,” Spy shrugged, eyes on the road.

Scout frowned further. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“No, I’m calling you a bad liar,” Spy said dryly.

“Well it’s true, that’s really what happened,” Scout said, a little offended.

“It doesn’t matter to me either way, I just wanted you to know that you need better cover stories if you want to continue getting away with your usual shenanigans.”

“Whatever, Spy,” Scout scoffed, glaring out the window.

About a minute and a half of complete silence. Scout got bored glancing around his side of the car and spent a good minute just picking at his cast before he realized he probably shouldn’t do that. He ended up reaching for the radio.

“No,” Spy droned.

“Aw, c’mon! Can’t we listen to something?” Scout complained. “It’s like forty minutes until we get back to base.”

“If you didn’t get in a bar fight and break your arm, it would be zero minutes. But you did, and I’m not listening to your terrible taste in music for forty minutes just because you can’t keep yourself out of trouble.”

Scout pouted over that for a minute or two before he thought of a good retort. “...Y’know, technically the guy probably only even jumped me because I was alone,” he said.

“Correct.”

“And I was only alone because you and all the other guys ditched me.”

“Succinct.”

“So this is kinda sorta basically your fault.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change. “...My fault?” he repeated.

“Yeah. If you didn’t ditch me, I wouldn’t have gotten jumped.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change.

“So you should let me turn on the radio.”

“Mon dieu, perhaps you should have been a lawyer,” he deadpanned.

Silence. “...So can I turn on the radio?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Spy said, and Scout leaned over to fiddle with the dial, grinning.

He really didn’t think Spy would put up with the sort of stuff he usually listened to in the car, so he ended up putting on a station with something old enough that Spy probably didn’t hate it. And Spy didn’t turn it off or pull over to dump him on the side of the road, so apparently he picked something alright.

Ten minutes without talking. Scout looked out his window and tried to remember not to pick at his cast. Because he was looking out the window, he pretty easily caught sight of a sign advertising a diner.

He looked over at a Spy. Spy didn’t look back.

“Can we get diner food?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“Tell me you aren’t seriously going to try this game,” Spy said, already looking annoyed. “You’re a grown man.”

“I’m hungry!”

“Then get something to eat at the base,” Spy said.

“I’m hungry and I have a broken arm and I’m gonna have to deal with Medic fixing my broken arm and also all the guys making fun of me. Can we please get diner food?” Scout asked,

Spy paused for a long moment. Scout’s eyes kept flicking between Spy and the upcoming exit. Spy sighed heavily and moved to take the exit. Scout cheered. “I can still change my mind,” Spy threatened. Scout shut up.

Scout double-checked his pockets for his wallet twice before they even pulled into the parking lot. It didn’t look particularly busy, but Spy didn’t pull up near the door anyways. He put the car into park and gave Scout the single most unimpressed look of his life.

“I’m giving you five minutes to order and get back in this car or I’m leaving without you,” he declared.

“Did you want anything?” Scout asked, fumbling with his seatbelt.

“Do I want terrible greasy American diner food?” Spy scoffed.

“Look, just thought I’d fuckin’ ask, alright? Jesus,” Scout mumbled, managing to get his seatbelt off. “And that doesn’t answer my question. Do you want anything?”

“Four minutes and fifty seconds,” Spy drawled, and Scout quickly got out of the car.

There wasn’t anyone in line, and luckily the diner was staffed by the kind of people who didn’t ask questions beyond giving a pointed glance towards his cast. He kept his order simple and kept an eye on the clock on the wall, and bolted back into the parking lot with the paper bag of food in hand wondering if Spy would seriously actually ditch him.

Surprisingly, Spy had left on the radio, and raised an eyebrow at him as he tried his best to bundle himself into the car one-handed. He managed to get his seatbelt on with only a minor scare about almost spilling the food, and promptly started digging through it as Spy pulled them back out of the parking lot.

“Here,” Scout chirped, holding something out to him. Spy frowned, glancing at his mirrors and taking what was being handed to him distractedly. They were out of the parking lot and back on the road by the time Spy actually looked at it.

“What is this?” he asked dryly, looking at the paper-wrapped something.

“Chicken sandwich,” Scout replied, pulling his own food out. “I uh, I think I got ketchup in here too—“

“Why did you get me a sandwich?”

“Why not?” Scout shrugged, unwrapping his burger and glancing it over before taking a bite and frowning. “Aw, man, I wanted cheese on this. Damn.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I mean, if you don’t want it, I’ll probably eat it.”

“No,” Spy said, and hesitated. He waited until they were at a stoplight before moving to unwrap the sandwich, glancing it over with a critical eye. Scout noticed that he didn’t take it completely out of the paper even when he did move to start eating it, instead using the paper to hold it. Probably worried about grease or something on his dumb gloves. Usually Scout would make fun of him about it, but he was pretty sure he was very close to getting kicked out of the car.

He wolfed down his hamburger (even without cheese) and started getting to work on his french fries, being extra careful due to the fact that he was pretty sure Spy would kill him if he dropped a fry in his nice, fancy, very very clean car.

He could only play it cool for so long once a joke occurred to him, though. He grinned, taking a fry and holding it between two fingers up near his face. “Hey, look, I’m you,” Scout joked, pretending to take a drag.

Spy spared him a glance and promptly rolled his eyes, returning to glaring at the road. “Not even close.”

“Aww, what?” Scout complained.

“First of all, I’m better dressed,” Spy quipped. “Second of all, I’m taller, and third of all, I didn’t get my arm put in a case because of a bar fight. Shall I continue? The list goes on.”

“Well why are you gettin’ personal about it?” Scout asked, bristling. “I was just makin’ a joke, sheesh.”

“How was I meant to know? Usually jokes are funny,” Spy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Scout didn’t have a good comeback for that, just sinking in his seat and moving to look back out the window.

A good ten minutes of silence again, broken only by the radio and the hum of the car. Scout finished his fries and put his trash back in the bag the way that Spy seemed to be doing, then crossed his arms over himself and just looked out the window at all the nothing. Silence. Road.

Surprisingly, Spy spoke first. “You’ve missed two Volkswagen Beetles,” he noted.

Scout didn’t say anything.

“Usually when we pass one of those you punch me very hard on the arm and I almost crash the car because you’re an idiot.”

Scout sunk further in his seat, but didn’t say anything.

“Am I meant to gather from this that the way to get you to stop doing that is by making you angry with me? Because if so, clearly I’ll need to be much worse to you from now on if I want to keep this vehicle in one piece.”

“Like that’s even possible for you,” Scout said under his breath.

“I didn’t need to come pick you up from the hospital, nor did I need to let you turn on the radio, nor did I need to pull over to allow you to get food from the diner,” Spy pointed out. “All things considered, I’ve been very nice to you so far.”

“What a saint,” Scout mumbled sarcastically.

Silence. “Do you have something to say?”

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about this, alright Spy?” Scout finally huffed.

“And why not?”

“Look, I’ve had a shitty night, okay?” Scout snapped, glaring hard at the desert outside the window. “I got my arm broken in a stupid bar because the guys got annoyed and ditched me and I was up until like four in the morning getting my arm set and put in a cast and then I had to sleep on a shitty bench in a hospital waiting room and then Miss P sent the one person on the planet who hates me more than anyone else to pick me up. I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this right now, okay? Just lay off.”

Silence. Thank god for the radio, or he would’ve suffocated in it.

“Surely I’m not the person who hates you the most in the world,” Spy said after a few moments. “There are nine men being paid to kill you on a daily basis. I’m sure they hate you much more than I do.”

Scout didn’t reply to that.

“And I’m sure none of them would have pulled over to let you get something to eat,” he added.

“Yeah, holy shit, your Peace Prize is in the mail,” Scout huffed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Scout snapped, finally looking over at him. Spy couldn’t hold eye contact for long, needing to watch the road. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Spy sighed hard, looking extremely irritated. “It means that have you ever considered that perhaps the team worries when someone goes missing? And that occasionally your teammates might worry about you?”

“How was I supposed to know? Usually teammates are supposed to be nice,” Scout sassed, echoing Spy’s earlier joke.

He watched Spy take a measured inhale, a controlled exhale. When he spoke a long few seconds later, his voice was level. “Fine,” he said. “Alright. You’ve made your point.”

Scout just turned to look back out the window.

“...And I’m sorry we left you alone at the bar.”

His head whipped back around, eyebrows furrowed. Spy wasn’t looking at him.

“And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, and thank you for also getting me a sandwich when you didn’t need to,” Spy continued.

Scout waited a good few seconds for the catch, for the ‘gotcha’, for the punchline. For the part where Spy would twist the words around and hit him with something really biting once his guard was down. But nothing came. Just silence.

He needed a long moment to figure out how to reply. “...Thanks,” was all he could manage, and he knew it was lame, but Spy just shrugged and made no further comment.

Minutes of silence. Scout looked out the windshield, picked at his cast. “Punch buggy,” he quipped a few minutes later, slugging Spy on the shoulder with his good hand, and Spy made an appropriate sound of disgust and annoyance and offhandedly threatened to make him walk the rest of the way, but Scout just laughed.

#dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #spy orders one black coffee and keeps driving like the john mulaney bit

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toosicktoocare · 5 years

Text

prompt: “What about a fic where TK’s locker at the station gets spray-painted with something mean or something else homophobic happens and TK is like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it is what it is, happens a lot. And his team and Carlos are like THIS IS NOT OKAY and goes to whop ass”

I feel like there should probably be a trigger-warning on this for hate crimes, bullying, people being homophobic assholes? Let’s just safely say that all apply.

The station’s quiet when TK walks in, bag over his shoulder and a yawn slipping past his lips. It’s quiet and oddly empty. Marjan isn’t finishing a prayer, Probie isn’t cleaning their gear while Paul shows him videos on his phone, his dad isn’t staring himself over in the side-view mirror of the truck. It’s just empty. He frowns a little as he starts toward the locker room to change, feet faltering when he sees his team crowding around the lockers, their backs blocking his view.

He quietly pushes the door open, fingers moving to curl lightly around the strap of his bag as he starts toward the small crowd. “Hey, guys, what’s everyone...”

He manages to squeeze past Marjan and Paul to see bright red painted letters smudged across his locker, reading “Stay Away Gay.” He blinks slowly at it, processing the clean-up more than the words, critiquing the grammar, the lack of comma after “Away.” He’s hopes the paint won’t be hard to get off, that it won’t end up stripping the original coating of paint on the locker, but when he makes to start toward it because he still has to change for the day, Owen’s fingers dig into his arm, stopping him.

“TK...”

Slowly, TK cranes his neck, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you let us get this cleaned up first--”

“--it’s okay,” TK lightly pulls his arm free, and he’s careful not to touch any paint as he opens his locker and drops his bag to the floor beside his feet. He’s fully aware that no one’s moved behind him, that everyone’s watching his every move with bated breath. Sighing, he turns on his heel, both brows arched.

“What? We could get a call any second now, you know?”

“TK, your locker--”

“--it’s fine,” TK stresses, dragging out the word. “It happens a lot.”

“What happens a lot?”

Carlos slips past the small crowd, face falling as he takes a long, steady look at the words. It’s hard to make out the message with the locker open, so he steps forward, reaching past TK to slowly close the door until the full message is visible and hitting him in the chest like a brick shattering a mirror.

“Who did this?”

The low growl of Carlos’ tone is not one that TK’s heard before, and he frowns, shaking his head.

“It was like this when we came in,” Marjan offers quietly, and TK can’t help but roll his eyes and turn back to his locker, pulling it back open with a low sigh.

“Seriously,” he says, hands working down the buttons of his shirt. “It’s no big deal--”

“We can check the security cameras,” Probie calls out, and the others agree, moving quickly out of the room. TK drops his head to the locker beside his, counting through a few breaths, before he trails behind the others upstairs to the camera room, his shirt half-unbuttoned as he skips up the steps.

“There!” Paul’s pointing at a screen, at a hooded man creeping around the station during the morning’s shift change. “This has to be less than an hour ago.”

“Which means he’s still close,” Carlos almost growls, spinning on his heel and breaking past the group. TK’s hot on his heels, moving to a run to keep up with him.

“Carlos, wait! It’s fi--”

“It’s not fine!” Carlos spits out, jerking to a halt and whipping around just as the rest of the team crowds behind TK. “You don’t deserve to come to a job where you put your life on the line to that bullshit!”

“He’s right, TK,” Owen steps forward, dropping a hand to TK’s shoulder. “This isn’t fine at all, and you should never have to get used to something like this.”

“So I think it’s time,” Marjan interrupts, looking around the team, meeting each questioning gaze.

“Time?” Judd already knows the answer, even shaking his fists out, but he waits for the one answer that will set everyone in motion.

“Time to whoop some ass!”

Carlos whips around, leading the group out of the station, and TK just watches, feeling suddenly too tired as he heads back into the locker room to clean up and change for the day. It doesn’t take long to get the paint wiped away since it was still wet, and he’s smoothing down his shirt, changed and ready and thankful they haven’t gotten a call yet, when the others come back, walking quietly around him, clapping him on the shoulder, until everyone goes about getting ready, leaving him alone with Carlos.

TK’s eyes drift down to Carlos’ hand, to the faint color of red painted across his knuckles. “You punched him?” he asks, arching one brow as he brings his gaze up to Carlos’ dark, conflicted eyes.

“I only got one hit in before your dad punched him hard enough to knock him on his ass.”

“Was it really necessary?” TK asks, tilting his head and crossing his arms. He studies the way Carlos’ eyes narrow, the way his lips pull into a firm line.

“Yes, TK, it was necessary.”

“Did you arrest him?”

“Of course.”

When the alarm starts blaring overhead, TK breaks Carlos’ gaze with a low sigh. He makes to move past Carlos, to head to the truck, but Carlos grabs his arm tightly, prompting him to look over, to meet his eyes once more.

“Carlos--”

Carlos’ lips slam against his with a heated, brief force that lasts just long enough for TK to want to melt into it, to chase the burst of passion across his chest, but then Carlos breaks away, dropping his forehead to TK’s.

“Please never settle for homophobic hate crimes, Tyler Kennedy. Please never think that what happened today is okay ever again.”

“If I say okay, will you let me go do my job?”

Carlos pulls away, both hands now gripping TK’s arms. “If you say it like you mean it.”

Their gazes dance across one another, searching and reading until TK nods. “Okay,” he breathes out, pushing the meaning forward in his tone, and Carlos accepts it with a brief kiss to his forehead.

“Good.”

(Hi, so just as Carlos told TK, please never think that any hate crime against you is okay ever.)

#tarlos #911 lone star #9 1 1 lone star #911 ls #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #marjan marwani #mateo chavez #paul strickland #judd ryder #carlos/tk #tyler kennedy strand #9 1 1 ls

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writerwrites · 4 years

Text

I Would Climb To You

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: You’ve been friends since middle school, shared a lot of firsts, even had a pact that if both of you weren’t married by a ‘respectable age’ you’d tie the knot. For the first time in years you’re both single on the annual Wilson Family Trip, but feeling like you need to find yourselves, hating dating apps, and not wanting to play the rebound game you two come up with a genius idea to have your needs met: friends with benefits... What could possibly go wrong?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, FWB!au, swearing, a little talk about the military/injuries

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is my entry into the great @wxntersoldiers 6k AU challenge! PS. Jammies!

“Damn, I remember this. Never thought it would leave a scar.” Sam’s dark eyes looked over at you, his hand outreached to flick the faded palm sized scar that was a different shade of brown from the rest of your hip. “A Skip It, right?”

“Not just a Skip It,” The words came out through breathless laughter, “A Skip It challenge in Moon Shoes. We really should have known it wasn’t going to end well.”

Sam’s laugh, a missed sound in the last four months when your best friend was deployed, wrapped you up in familiar comfort. It was his first mission since you were honorably discharged and despite your swearing up and down that you didn’t miss the chaos of being a para-rescuer in the Air Force with that goofy asshole that had been your best friend since you moved to his hometown in seventh grade, you did. Moreover, you knew he knew it. That hug goodbye flashed in your memory briefly, Sam coming at you in camo goofy bear arms outstretched for a hug that, when given, didn’t have the smack to it that always made you unsteady on your feet. You’d reassured him you were fine, physically and emotionally, hugging him tightly back before poking him in the ribs and letting him get on with his farewells to his siblings. Despite the inaudible whispers, you knew he was telling them to check in on you. You also knew he didn’t need to say it, they’d taken you in, just like he had, many years ago. “Hey, where’d you go?” Sam’s voice pulled you out of your head and back to the poolside.

“Don’t look so concerned or someone’s gonna think you’re in love with me.” With a wave of your hand you tried to blow him off, but he didn’t bite, so you went to that line the two of you never crossed. “I was thinking about A.C. Slater and how I totally would have milked an injury in school if it would’ve given me a chance to hook up with a guy who could bench my bodyweight. If. You. Must. Know.”

When your head lulled to the side and a playful glare at Sam over your sunglasses, tongue sticking out, he scoffed. “You’re not that thick, I could bench you. It’s all about balancing the weight.”

“Oh, is this the move?” Laughing you hopped up and squeezed the hard muscles of his biceps, your dark curls dripping onto his bare chest. “I always wondered what you said to get a different girl to leave the bar with you every time we went out. I just assumed you did the whole ‘I’m a soldier’ card.”

Sam feigned offense and tickled his fingers at your waist, throwing you into a fit of laughter. Before you could protest he had one large hand on your inner thigh and the other on your ribs. Instinctually, you tightened your thighs around his hand, your hands ready to smack him on the top of his head as he just gripped you tighter, picking you up like you were a doll. “It might be the move.”

He groaned, you laughed and then he was laughing too. The consequence of loosening your muscles was your body falling onto his chest. “Don’t you dare groan, Wilson, or I’m going to let the boys know you dropped me.”

“Oh trust me, the fact that I dropped you poolside would not be the talk of the conversation.” With a scoff you asked what would be and he obliged you with an explanation you should’ve seen coming. “They always thought we were a thing, still do. They didn’t even ask if I was ‘going home’ for our leave. Instead, they asked what we were getting into.” Despite rolling your eyes, Sam went on. “I told ‘em that I was going to interview at the V.A. and that we were joining my family for a vacation- sun and sand, drinks poolside.”

By now you’d gotten off of him, your hip shoving his thigh to the side so that you could sit on his lounge chair and steal sips of his beer. “So, what did you tell them? Destination wedding or honking hula girl titties?”

“They asked for pictures of you in that bikini.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned, knowing that despite the love for your brothers in arms they were still sexist pigs at the best of times. “I hope you told them you think of me like a sister.”

“So I should’ve lied?” Sam snorted, snatching his beer back from your greedy lips. “If I was going to lie I would’ve said destination wedding to make them feel like assholes for not being invited.”

“So what, I’m a broken toy soldier now so I’m not your sister anymore?” You were hurt and Sam could hear it in your voice, but the sunglasses hid the glimmer of tears in your eyes.

In a huff, Sam watched you get up and reach to snatch his beer back, not particularly wanting to walk across the sunny poolside to get another. He pulled it away again, looking up at you. “You really want to do this right here, right now, on vacation, in front of some strangers’ kids playing Marco Polo.”

Stubborn, the both of you.

You were back in your room in the Wilson’s four bedroom and two bathroom villa faster than Sam could catch up with you and you didn’t care that you had left him with flip flops and a long walk to think about how much it hurt to have him push back about you being family after all these years. You’d sputtered away in the rented golf cart, middle finger flying high. Even now, using Paul and Darlene’s timeshare as a getaway for the kids still included you. You bit your lip and rummaged through your things, hoping a shower would stop you from taking an Uber back to the airport.

When you tapped on the bathroom door you shared with Sam’s sister, Sarah, you heard her holler back. “I’ll be out soon. Are you and Sam coming with Gideon and I to that hibachi place with the bar next door?”

“Sam might. I’m feeling jet lagged, so I think I’m going to sleep early today so that I don’t mess up the rest of our vacation.” You nibbled on your bottom lip until it was sore and puffy, rolling your towel over your arms both hoping she’d buy it and wondering she’d tell you how long ‘soon’ was. Before you got your answer Gideon walked out of the master and into his room next to yours, “Hey, Sam’s still at the pool if you want to text him and see if he’s going with you all.”

He was already taking out his phone, texting Sam, and without looking at you he said, “Just use the master bathroom. I promise the ‘boy’s bathroom is just as clean as yours and you know she’s going to be in there for ages.”

As Sarah shouted out some profanity at him, you mouthed a thank you and slipped into Sam’s room. Like your own, the bed was made and the only sign of life was the suitcase with a few items dangling out of its edges. A glance at the closet as you walked into the bathroom was another tell on your similarities and enlistment- all of the clothes neatly hung in the closet.

You couldn’t even be sure how long the hot water was running over you. As you rinsed off the sweat and sunblock, the door burst open and you swore. “What the f-.” Cut off by flying sandals you squawked again, “What the actual f-.”

Sam cut you off again, shutting the door and crossing his arms but turning toward the opposing wall for your modesty, not that the opaque shower curtain he had boomeranged his sandals around was giving you much cover. “When I said I don’t see you like a sister I didn’t mean that I don’t see you as a soldier, you earned every rank and medal working your ass twice as hard as any of us had to. I’m proud of you, so don’t think for a minute I’m going to let you see yourself as broken. I meant I don’t see you the same as Sarah- never have, never will.” Tears streamed down your cheeks and you were grateful for the water to cover the hurt Sam seemed hell bent on inflicting at the beginning of your vacation after you missed the hell out of him. “You are my best friend and you’re my family. Harlem’s a place I called home in a way, but when I thought about where I was going to live, I didn’t think about where. Harlem didn’t feel like home anymore without you. I realized home is where my person is. You’re my person.”

Your stomach lurched as you listened, an anxious flip. Feeling like you had to put a stop to the conversation he seemed to be trying to have you stuck your head out from around the curtain. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re in love with me you can cut that shit out right now, Sam Wilson. I know the first VHS you masturbated to and you puked on me at prom, when you got your first promotion, when you saw your first d-.”

“Stop. Stop, I’m not in love with you.” He waved his hand like the l-word was leaving a bad stench under his nose. “It doesn’t mean that I can think of you like a sister, either.”

Leaning back into the shower you shut off the water, hoping that it would freeze his junk off when it was turned back on. “Why? You never seemed to have a problem thinking about me that way in middle school, high school, basic training… When did it change?”

You stepped out in a towel, curls dripping everywhere as you looked at Sam, his frame still blocking your path to the door. “Oh I sure as shit did, even in middle school. You know the first VHS I got off to, but you don’t know the real person I thought about every time I was single? C’mon.”

Scoffing in disbelief you moved to the door. “Lying ass.”

“Oh, so you didn’t think of me once or twice either.” You refused to answer, eyes on the door behind him. It was a tell, he knew your silence was an omission. “When was the last time?” If you gave him an inch, you knew Sam Wilson was good for a mile. A glare, daggers straight up into his dark eyes. “That recently? Since I’ve been back?”

“Why does it matter?”

“It’s a vacation. We have a whole house to ourselves.” Don’t say it. Don’t ruin this. You chanted in your head. “With clear boundaries, as two consenting grown ass adults, why should we be the only people in this house not getting laid?”

Sam was sleeping on the other side of the hall but you’d told him at the pool that both of his siblings had brought people back from their night out and you now knew way too much about what they were into in the sheets. Your eyes fell to his full lips and you inadvertently licked your own. Against your better judgement and before you could bite your tongue you asked, “Clear boundaries?”

You watched his Adam’s apple bob and his tongue run across his lips, wondering if maybe he hadn’t expected you to be game. “All right, obviously we’d stop if one of us started seeing someone, be honest in and out of the bedroom- like always, and stop if feelings get in the mix, no cuddling or staying over naked. Anything else?”

“Grooming and contraception, always.” Sam nodded in agreement and started to pull his clothes off, stepping out of your way and heading toward the shower. Though your gaze followed him it fell to the tile when he slipped his thumbs under the hem of his boardshorts. “What about kissing… like on the mouth?”

“We’ve done it before.” He laughed, starting the shower before getting in and though your eyes had been on the clothes on the floor and his feet you slowly built up the confidence to really look at him.

With his back turned to you it was easy to see why he was more than capable of picking you up with ease. You’d only stollen a glance at his whole frame a few times; the notorious high school streak challenge, a skinny dipping haze in basic, and the unspeakable time you walked into his room after a bad breakup and he was… Well, shaking your head to erase the thought like an Etch A Sketch, you unabashedly stared at his statuesque frame climbing into the shower before climbing onto the bathroom counter. “Do high school dares and spin the bottle really count?”

“You kiss differently when it isn’t a game?” Sam stuck his head back out of the shower and looked you over, studying your expression as he covered himself in shower gel. Guilty, you’d gone all in to make an ex jealous and Sam knew it then and was calling your bluff now. “If you don’t want to we don’t have to.”

“They left, thought we had an argument to work out and said they’d stay out late to make sure we worked it out.” You could practically hear the smirk on his lips on the other side of the curtain and you felt the urge to climb in the shower and wallop him right on his perfect haunches if it wouldn’t solely prove him right.

There was a long silence, but you stayed perched there on the sink, listening to the water, picturing Sam under it, then feeling guilty about it. He wasn’t wrong, you’d thought about him occasionally, more out of him being the only completely decent guy you knew and recent break ups making you not want to think about the last guy you slept with. Getting off to the thought of Sam felt dirty, which made you squirm a little… because it wasn’t wrong, just personal. With your towel riding up over your thick thighs, the cool marble of the sink pressed into the curve of your ass, making you shiver as you rocked your hips a little trying to get more comfortable. Your legs swung back and forth and you looked across the counter for lotion to soothe the heat from the sun and hot shower. “Lotion?” The question was asked as you watched him step out, catching a glimpse at the front of him as he grabbed his towel and tucked it around his waist. Sam reached into the cabinet behind you and put the container shea butter, opening the lid and taking in the scent that was distinctly Sam. “What’s in it?” Musing aloud as you took a bit between your fingers and started to warm it up in your palms before massaging it into your skin.

His eyes drank up the movements as he toweled off, a bit to your dismay as you were enjoying the sight of water shimmering down the dark lines of his stomach. “I always put a few essential oils in there. I think this one I added black spruce and…” He trailed off, coming closer, nudging your knees apart with his hips like he needed the mirror and you were in his way, “birch, maybe.”

The nudge almost sent you falling into the sink and your shea butter covered hands wrapped around him as you let out a fleeting squeal and laugh. You scooted closer to the edge, wrapping your legs around his for leverage. “Well, I guess I’ve got your back.” Laughing you ran your hands up Sam’s damp back, massaging the lotion into his skin, hitting the knots and curves with intention. You couldn’t be sure when he stopped putting lotion on his arms or finished brushing his fingers over the fresh finally-on-leave stubble blossoming on his jaw but he had. His dark brown gaze was on you when you looked up at him and you became aware of your breath on his chest. A smirk drew across your lips, trying not to let yourself be shaken by the look in his eyes. “You good?”

Sam’s response was a grunted ‘mmhm’ as he picked the shea butter back up and started to caress the lotion into your thighs. You froze and it was his turn to ask, “You good?” A challenge, two could play this game.

There was a time you were quick to snap back with witty comments, but determined to abuse the door Sam had opened, you leaned forward the mere inch to his chest, still hot from the shower, and pressed your lips to his skin. He groaned and you smirked. But the playful back and forth torture continued, you massaging Sam’s back, moving lower with every circle, was met with Sam’s own caresses further up your thighs. His hands were under the hem of the towel before yours had reached his ass. Like turning on the green light at a race, your tongue slipped out of your mouth and brushed down his chest to his ribs, where you nipped at the defined muscle. That set him off and what had been quiet moans between the two of you was now a deep growl from Sam. With a casual “oops,” you were really telling him, checkmate.

But two can play that game, his eyes said as they looked straight into your soul. Sam’s fingers pulled open your towel and you bit your lip, letting him have his moment. Your gaze narrowed and you pulled his own off, your tongue running across your lips when his length sprung free. This wasn’t uncharted territory, you’d long since grew out of the uncomfortable in your skin complex that was debilitating and internalized by so many women of your complexion. The tips of your fingers pressed into the cut of muscle over his hips and Sam leaned forward only to groan as your hands curved away from his semi and down his thighs. Your nails scratched gently around the back of his thighs and teased him again by completely avoiding his toned glutes. Impatient with the teasing, Sam’s brushed the back of his fingers over your chest before palming the slope of your breasts. The way your nipples went hard under the slightest attention from the pad of his thumb made the man’s cock twitch in front of you.

If he was determined to keep pushing the line further, then you were determined to push it faster. Your soft hands wrapped around his muscle, stroking him tight and slow. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a near-silent groan. No talking was needed, you could see the fire moving straight through him and you squirmed on the sink with delight, all too aware of how wet making him hard in your hand was making you wet. Proud of the littlest accomplishment of pleasure, a little victory in a lifetime long list of teasing, you explored the new territory, brushing your thumb in gentle small circles over the tip of his cock. The pad of your thumb came up wet with precum and you looked right at him as you brought your thumb to your lips and sucked the digit clean. Sam’s fingers dug harder into your thighs and you let him pull you not just to the edge of the sink but so that there was no longer space between the two of you.

A whimper passed your lips and your thumb left your mouth with a pop as his cock pressed against your pelvis and stomach; long, thick, and hard and Sam’s expression was just as proud and uncompromising. He rocked his hips and you squeezed your thighs tighter at his sides. There was a fleeting moment where his eyes softened, his mouth opened, and you knew he was going to ask if you were sure- as if there was some way to come back from giving your best friend a boner while you sat naked in his bathroom talking about thinking about just doing this. “I’d like to know if you’re worth the hype.”

“Oh really?” He laughed and smiled up at him. There was no other reason for a protest and, given how wound up the pair of you were from being in dry spells, there wasn’t a need or want for foreplay beyond the introductory touching you’d both fleetingly just engaged in. Pulses rampant, Sam pulled away just enough to line himself up to your entrance, catching a glimpse of your dripping pussy and nearly giving in to bury his face between your thick thighs. A low and slow, “Fuck,” passed Sam’s lips as he pushed himself into your tight passage.

Your giggle became a breathy gasp as he filled you. Swallowing at your surprisingly dry throat you buried your face in his arm and, as your heat stretched to accommodate him you bit gently into his bicep. Whimpering when he slowed further, he took the hint and kept going until he filed you to the hilt. Your dark eyes looked up at him and you ran your tongue up the vein on his arm where you’d left a little bite mark. Placing careful kisses up his arms and across his chest, you moved your hands to the edge of the bathroom’s countertop and bit your lip as you held on and you moved your legs up over his hips, locking at the ankles over his ass. Sam wasted no time, as if just getting to this point had been a marathon of torture. He held onto your waist and what started as a few long thrusts where he made sure you were okay, quickly turned into deep thrusts at a steady pace. “Yes, right there,” the words were a panted plea when he hit the right spot and like a machine he kept driving himself into you, right there, making the bathroom echo with the sound of your moaning and the obscene echo of his cock claiming you.

Tightening around him, Sam was soon groaning with you, both satisfied and wanting more of you. Untangling your legs, he put them over his shoulders. The combination of being completely under his control and the view of his muscles hard at work with the labor of the deep and frantic fuck made your toes curl. Reaching back you pressed a palm into the curve of the sink for more pressure and leverage. Your breasts with every thrust and his eyes moved from your lips to your chest. The way his tongue ran across his full lips, the way he bit his lip, all of it made the coil in your core impatient for release. When he focused on his own pleasure, and you had no leverage to even roll your hips, your mind went static and you begged, “Sam, please. Please, harder! More. I need you.”

To your surprise Sam pushed your legs off his shoulder and thrust hard and deep inside you so that you called out his name and scratched down his back. Then Sam pulled you up off of the sink. Quickly adapting, your legs wrapped tightly around him and you looped your arms around his neck. With Sam’s hands pawing at your thighs and ass, you using your own strength to grind, and him back in a deep rapid thrusts you knew you were going to fall over the edge. He watched you, both of you cursing loudly in the steamy bathroom, “I know you’re close. Look at me.”

Frazzled, you followed the command like a good soldier and it only made his hips rut into you more enthusiastically. Your skin burned against his and you hungrily pulled his mouth to yours and poured in proof that maybe the both of you hadn’t really poured everything into those silly spin the bottle snogs. You couldn’t pull away, the taste of his beer still on his lips and the familiar comforting scent of him enveloped you and you gave in to Sam’s control. Your lips fell from his and your head lulled back, curls sticking to the fresh sweat on your forehead and shoulders as your legs quaked to the point that he had to cling to your thighs as your orgasm quaked through your body. Your moaning quickly turned into bashful laughter, which you stifled by biting your lip as your muscles spasmed around him.

With Sam still inside you, your juices dripping down his muscle, you pulled yourself back against his chest and nipped at his jaw. His dark eyes had been staring at you, an expression you couldn’t decipher. “I didn’t even know I could cum that hard.” Whatever that expression had been on his face now melted back into the look of lust you’d seen painted on his face when he unraveled your towel. You held onto him more tightly as he moved to the wall and pinned you to it. You watched his muscles in the damp mirror as he fervently rutted himself into you. The tips of your fingers caressed the muscles down his back and scratched at as much of his toned ass as you could grab past your own thighs. “No one has ever felt this good inside me.”

Was it positive praise, did he just love a good compliment because he was a cocky bastard, or could he tell that the confession had slipped past your lips in earnest? Sam gently grabbed your jaw and looked at you before pressing his mouth to yours again, sucking at your bottom lip before biting it. The dedicated rhythm of his pumping into you became as starved as his lips, and you could have sworn the wall was going to bruise your back or that someone a block away would come knocking concerned from the noise you two were making. He knew you were close again, that jagged whimper that sputtered into his mouth in gasps as you started to tighten around him. Like a vice, you milked him and he gave into you. Sam’s cock throbbed against your walls and the satisfied feeling of him filling you up brought you closer to the edge. He pressed a soft, finished and fleeting kiss to your lips, closed to pulling out of you and setting you down, utterly exhausted. But you held your thighs tightly around him, reaching between the two of you and teasing your clit until you came again.

As your second orgasm washed over you, Sam had leaned back to watch the whole scene and only bent down to flick his tongue across your nipples which sent a little aftershock through your body. You gave his arm a little teasing smack as he set you down. With shaking legs you laughed as you walked gracelessly to the shower. “Sam, I know we made a pact Freshman year that if we weren’t married by forty we’d tie the knot, but I never thought I’d want to hold you to it.”

Sitting on the bench in the shower you caught your breath, still laughing as your legs continued to shake. “This is going to be one hell of a vacation.”

“Damn straight.” You winked, reaching over to turn the shower on and meeting Sam’s hand. “You getting in?”

He looked you over and leaned against the wall, the cool water blasting some reality into your sense before it warmed up, “Now I am.” You both laughed and he got in, taking over the shower heads full flow of water. “Now let me clean you up while I catch my breath.”

Biting your lip you nodded, watching his soap covered rough hands move with tenderness back up your thighs, teasing you he pulled down the shower head. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? No one’s here but us,” He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, “You managed to walk into the shower, I clearly haven’t finished.”

Before you could protest the high pressure of the shower head was between your legs and your hands were clutching his biceps. Closing your eyes, you could only manage to helplessly say one word, maybe tomorrow you’d worry about it sounding like I love you, “Sam.”

#wxntersoldiers6kAUchallenge #sam wilson x reader #sam x reader #sam wilson x you #fic: sam wilson #writer: writerwrites

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Note

Hi, could you maybe do one for Jacob Black? The reader is dating him and she loves pranks. As she is sitting the garage waiting for Jacob, she decides to prank him. She ties a firecracker to the door and than waits for him. What she doesn’t know is that he wasn’t in a good mood, after arguing with the Cullens. When he gets back, he wasn’t expecting the prank and it set him off. When the prank goes off, she begins laughing but soon stops when she saw the look on his face. Without meaning to, he

lashes out at her and scares her. She wasn’t used to him being that way towards her and she started to grow a fear of him after that. He notices when she spends most of her time with the Cullens. He already felt bad about snapping at her, and when he asked the Cullens what was going on, he felt even worse. He finds her and apologizes for his mistake. They talk things through and everything is okay in the end.

****

She was giddy ever since she got the idea of pranking her boyfriend, wanting things to go back the way they were when they were just silly kids with silly notions that seemed to have gone when he disappeared from her life for a few months. Now? They’re inseparable, but she missed the old, carefree Jacob who made her laugh with his clumsiness and inside jokes.

The last thing she expected was to have him scream at her once the prank worked, to shake until he loses control and shifts in front of her - something she had yet to see as she told him she wasn’t ready and would take his word at him being a wolf. She wanted it to be different, so, so different and it ended running out of the garage with tears streaming down her face.

Driving off, all she could remember is Bella and that she too faced Jacob when he lost control and she needed someone to talk to.

“Alice told me you’d come.” Bella waited for her at the door, arms open to offer a consoling hug and while it knocked the breath out of her, Y/N leaned into her cold, hard chest anyway. She needed a hug, even if it felt like she is hugging a wall.

“He just started screaming and I couldn’t breathe.” Y/N struggled to speak, to explain what had caused her sudden panic and fear and the overwhelming need to run away from the only man she ever loved...

‘Man? He was a boy...a boy that could turn into a wolf, she reminded herself.’

“He can’t control his temper, Y/N, not yet. I know you want a magical solution and the guy you fell for, but the key to that is time and patience.” Bella advised, hoping it would be of help because it’s a difficult world to navigate as a human, she remembers that quite well.

“And he’s quite sorry. Jasper is drowning in his regret.” Edward adds as he joins the girls, his own pained expression enough for Y/N to see how Jacob’s thoughts are affecting him negatively as well.

“So, I’m supposed to just bite my tongue and fake being someone else until he can control his urge to eat my face off?” Y/N chuckled dryly, sighing as she runs her palms over her face in frustration, wondering if it is easier to just let him go.

“Don’t, but maybe keep a safe distance when you do chew him out for being a dick?” Emmett joked, giving Y/N a gentle nudge toward the house where Jacob was pacing nervously, terrified he pushed her away.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Is the first thing he says as he senses her perfume in the air, even with his back turned to her he knew it was her. He could pick her out in any crowd.

“I don’t hate you, per se, but I’m not the biggest fan of the macho psycho wolf crap you’ve been doing and today was...Too much. Jake, it was too much and I get it, you’re dealing with a lot and it’s all new and stressful, but I need you to control your temper better and maybe talking to Sam again could help? Just promise me you’ll try!” She insisted while she still had strength to be angry with him, before his puppy eyes disarm her and she feels guilty and selfish and drops the whole thing.

“I promise. I will find a way, I’ll even talk to Paul.” Jacob exclaimed, ready to make the sacrifice even if it’s the last thing he wanted to do.

“Paul? Wow, I didn’t mean for you to go that far.” She chuckles, coming closer and even with the slightest bit of fear in her heart, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his down, closer to her lips.

“Anything for you. For us. I’m sorry I was an asshole, I will work on it.” And he means it, she can tell there are no traces of second thoughts or lies and while she could double check with Edward who is without a doubt in her mind listening in and smirking once he realizes she busted him, she trusts herself and her own ability to read Jacob, her best friend, boyfriend, imprint.

“That’s good with me. Now kiss me.”

#jacob black #jacob black x reader #jacob black imagine #jacob black x imprint #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #jacob black angst #jacob black fic

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youralternantpersonality · 4 years

Text

Except For You

Embry x reader: Except for You

Warning: Death, Emotional support and control, CPS/fostering/adoption/homes.

***

Y/n was an easy-going kid growing up, full of life, happiness, and all things of that. It wasn’t until the tragic accident happened that landed you in foster care. CPS searched high and low for a family member to take you in. But to no avail, you were still in the system from the soft ages of five to 15.5 years (to be exact). It wasn’t the easiest, nicest, and not the most pleasant, but you survived and that’s all that mattered. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

You were taken in by your great aunt when you were eight, but by then, the damages had been done. You were distant, hesitant, and deemed as an “aggressive” child. The only life form you ever let get close to you was the dog of the house, Manny. As soon as you entered the household, Manny was your comforter, protector, and your emotional and mental support. Your great aunt and uncle realized this and let it be. It wasn’t until another accident occurred that resulted in Manny’s death did you end up in a group home. The pain was too much, and because you weren’t properly taught how to express your emotions healthily, it resulted in a few tossed dishes, runaways, holes in the wall, and nights of screams and cries that could be heard for miles. Ever since, at the tender age of nine (at this point), you wouldn’t allow any form of being near you. The thought of going through that pain again only would hurt 20x more than the time you lost your family and Manny. And that wasn’t worth it.

That is until you were fostered by a couple who wanted to adopt you in the small town of La Push. You had met your foster mom, Emily, at the group home she volunteered at and for once grew attached to someone. It took a while, but something about Emily gave you a sense of home. She reminded you of your mother. Or what little you had of her. All you had of your family was pictures and trinkets you hid from the other kids, so they don’t mess with it.

You and Emily grew close. So close that Emily had to stop volunteering at the group home. Regret consumed you until you had a potential parental meeting to be adopted. When you walked into the room, the first person you saw was your caseworker, Lilly (the bitch), and then you saw her…Emily. You ran to her as fast as you could, hugged her with all your strength, and cried.

“What are you doing here?” You cried into her shoulder.

“I’m here to take you home Y/n/n.” you looked at her confused. She smiled and continued,

“That’s why I stopped volunteering. It would have been a conflict of interest and unethical to continue to work here and then adopt you, sweetie. So, I talked to Jessica and Leo,” the group homeowners, “and they said I would have to stop for a given month, place in an application, allow CPS to check if we’re acceptable to be able to be a contender. But Jess and Leo somehow convinced them to speed up the year process to five months. I’m so sorry Hun, I didn’t mean to be away for this long.” She said with tears forming in her eyes.

“You want me?” I said in disbelief. She smiled and looked up at a man I didn’t realize who was there. Big ass dude who looked to be “6’4”, broad shoulders, buff, and looks like he could intimidate and scare off anyone in his path. He grinned down at Emily and looked towards me. He held out his hand and introduced himself.

“I’m Sam, Emily’s husband. She has told me nothing but great things about you Y/n.” I hesitantly but confidently shook his hand and from then forward, I was accepted into their close little family. And to be honest, I wasn’t that was surprised at how easily I had grown attached to the two.

Six months later

I was in the garden with Emily fixing the flower beds when I heard the guys come from the forest. Emily and I looked at each other and went inside to clean up real fast and prepare for their ultimate feast. The guys had been training for some vampiric war due to this incompetent girl who can’t get herself out of trouble.

It was on accident really, how I found out what Sam and the guys are. Two things happened, one, Embry imprinted on me, and two, I was there that uneventful day, the first day I met Bella, where her dumbass punched Paul. Not only did I see Paul, but I also saw Jake transform.

Living with Sam and Emily for a month and a half

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” I yell at a distance, Embry, my imprint before I knew what it was, Quil, and Jered all turned to look at me.

“Fuck.” Sam said, he turned to look at me, but I took off. I didn’t know where I was running, but I ran. I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know if Emily or Leah did the same thing. So, I just ran, ran until I got to First beach. I fell to the sand to catch my breath and just looked out into the ocean. I felt someone sit next to me, without even looking, I knew who it was. The second and last person I’ll let come as close as they were to me; the only other male to be within proximity of me. Enough to where our shoulders touched.

Embry. The cute and idiotic boy I took to instantly the second we met. I never understood or knew what it was about him, but whatever it was, I tried to fight it at first, but it hurt more than I thought it would. Emily said to just let it happen, let yourself feel, and not resist. It was hard, but after some time, he somehow looked like it affected him more than me, which worried and hurt me. Without a second thought, I accepted and allow myself to the possibility of gaining a closer friend. And since, he has been one of the closest people I have ever taken to. More so than Emily, and that says a lot. I broke the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” I said without looking at him.

“I figured you’d want to get adapted to living here before you found out that our legends are true Olives.” I roll my eyes at the nickname he gave me as soon as he found out that I despise Olives. I looked at him and looked down as our knees were leaning on one another.

“You still could have said something…I don’t know. Anything. You know I hate secrets, especially coming from you Cilantro.” He wrapped his arm around me, and I easily gave into him. It used to bother me how easily I took to him being close to me, but now, I don’t fight it.

“I know, and I’m sorry. No more secrets, I promise. Unless I have to protect you, but I promise, I will try to keep you out of that situation Olives.” I looked up at him, I couldn’t look away even if I tried. His big soft brown eyes carried the light from the sun as if it was a sea with quiet waves. A whirlpool of honey mixed with chocolate. The boy had a grasp on me, but I wouldn’t break what we have for some weird crush. But apparently, he would because without a second thought, he leaned in and I felt two warm lips against mine. I did nothing at first, but when he pulled away, I leaned in and caught his lips to mine again to show him how I felt back. After that, we leaned our foreheads against each other and smiled. Thus, resulting in him to tell me about imprinting. Now, that, I understood why he held back from telling me. Thinking back on it, the ways the pack responded to us, it made sense.

“Awe, look at the married couple.” -Jared, when we were eating.

“You guys want us to leave while you have your privacy, or are we welcomed into the conversation?” -Brady, when we were hanging out at the beach.

“Get a room!”- Paul, when we were doing nothing but making stupid faces at each other.

Everyone knew I hated being touched or having someone too close to me, except for Emily. So, when I allowed Embry to do so, that brought on more teasing. And it wasn’t big stuff like wrapping an arm around me. It was small things.

When he’d sit next to me at the table, he would be close enough for me to cross my legs and rest my foot behind his calf, yet far enough so no one would be able to notice.

Sometimes Emily and I would be sitting at the table when the guys come in. He would purposefully be last so that when he came behind me, he would glide his finger softly at my exposed skin. At one point, he didn’t care, and Emily saw him do it then saw my reaction. She was happy to see my reaction but said nothing to me.

When Emily and I are cleaning the kitchen from cooking and the guys come in to eat, he’d get the silverware and slightly brush his shoulder to mine. Then bump me with it and head back to the table. I would do nothing but smile, which caught Paul’s attention, who then pointed it out. Asshole.

After that, Embry said, “fuck it!” and just found a way to get close to me. I didn’t mind. But it was moments like these, on the sand, with his arm wrapped around me that no one saw. It was something that wasn’t worth showing. Something that I was not comfortable showing. The slight touches, I’m ok. But PDA, I can’t do. Thankfully he understands this.

Present Day

Just as the boys were entering, Emily and I just took the food out. Like normal, the boys set the table and for some reason, Embry came up to me first, kissed my cheek, grabbed the plates, and went to the table. I was shocked, but I wasn’t mad. No one saw it, so that put me at ease.

After eating and relaxing, Embry and I went to his place to just watch a movie. It was times like these did he love the most. Why? Because I was always attached to him. With Embry, I can get lost in time and can easily feel physically deprived from. So, when we are behind closed doors, I basically turn into a big baby. Another thing that has scared me. But I am learning.

With Embry, I am learning a lot about myself. My boundaries, comfort zones, and what I want. With Emily and Sam alone, I learned what I want, Manny proved that to me too. With my great aunt and uncle, I learned what I didn’t want. At the group home, I was taught how to survive. With all these lessons, I learned a great deal about myself. And all of it came into play meeting up to the love of my life. And every day, I am grateful.

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